• 


CO 


V* 


AT  GOOD  OLD  SIWASH 


Twenty-five  yards  with  four  Muggledorfer  men  hanging 
on  his  legs 

FKUSTISPIKCE.     Ste  paye  19 


AT 
GOOD  OLD  SIWASH 


BY 
GEORGE  FITCH 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND   COMPANY 
1911 


Copyright,  1910, 1911, 
BY  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1911, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

AU  rights  reserved 
Published,  September,  1911 


THE   UNIVERSITY   PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


PS 
35 


PREFACE 

LITTLE  did  I  think,  during  the  countless  occa 
sions  on  which  I  have  skipped  blithely  over  the 
preface  of  a  book  in  order  to  plunge  into  the  plot,  -that 
I  should  be  called  upon  to  write  a  preface  myself 
some  day.  And  little  have  I  realized  until  just  now 
the  extreme  importance  to  the  author  of  having  his 
preface  read. 

I  want  this  preface  to  be  read,  though  I  have  an 
uneasy  premonition  that  it  is  going  to  be  skipped  as 
joyously  as  ever  I  skipped  a  preface  myself.  I  want 
the  reader  to  toil  through  my  preface  in  order  to  save 
him  the  task  of  trying  to  follow  a  plot  through  this 
book.  For  if  he  attempts  to  do  this  he  will  most  cer 
tainly  dislocate  something  about  himself  very  seri' 
ously.  I  have  found  it  impossible,  in  writing  of  col 
lege  days  which  are  just  one  deep-laid  scheme  after 
another,  to  confine  myself  to  one  plot.  How  could 
I  describe  in  one  plot  the  life  of  the  student  who 
carries  out  an  average  of  three  plots  a  day?  It  is 
unreasonable.  So  I  have  done  the  next  best  thing. 
There  is  a  plot  in  every  chapter.  This  requires  the 
use  of  upwards  of  a  dozen  villains,  an  almost  equal 
number  of  heroes,  and  a  whole  bouquet  of  heroines. 


vi  Preface 

But  I  do  not  begrudge  this  extravagance.  It  is  neces 
sary,  and  that  settles  it. 

Then,  again,  I  want  to  answer  in  this  preface  a  num 
ber  of  questions  by  readers  who  kindly  consented  to 
become  interested  in  the  stories  when  they  appeared  in 
the  Saturday  Evening  Post.  Siwash  is  n't  Michigan 
in  disguise.  It  is  n't  Kansas.  It  is  n't  Knox.  It 
is  n't  Minnesota.  It  is  n't  Tuskegee,  Texas,  or  Tufts. 
It  is  just  Siwash  College.  I  built  it  myself  with  a 
typewriter  out  of  memories,  legends,  and  contributed 
tales  from  a  score  of  colleges.  I  have  tried  to  locate 
it  myself  a  dozen  times,  but  I  can't.  I  have  tried  to 
place  my  thumb  on  it  firmly  and  say,  "  There,  darn 
you,  stay  put."  But  no  halfback  was  ever  so  elusive 
as  this  infernal  college.  Just  as  I  have  it  definitely 
located  on  the  Knox  College  campus,  which  I  myself 
once  infested,  I  look  up  to  find  it  on  the  Kansas 
prairies.  I  surround  it  with  infinite  caution  and  at 
tempt  to  nail  it  down  there.  Instead,  I  find  it  in 
Minnesota  with  a  strong  Norwegian  accent  running 
through  the  course  of  study.  Worse  than  that,  I  often 
find  it  in  two  or  three  places  at  once.  It  is  harder  to 
corner  than  a  flea.  I  never  saw  such  a  peripatetic 
school. 

That  is  only  the  least  of  my  troubles,  too.  The 
college  itself  is  never  twice  the  same.  Sometimes  I 
am  amazed  at  its  size  and  perfection,  by  the  grandeur 
of  its  gymnasium  and  the  colossal  lines  of  its  stadium. 
But  at  other  times  I  cannot  find  the  stadium  at  all,  and 
the  gymnasium  has  shrunk  until  it  looks  amazingly 


Preface  vii 

like  the  old  wooden  barn  in  which  we  once  built  up 
Sandow  biceps  at  Knox.  I  never  saw  such  a  college 
to  get  lost  in,  either.  I  know  as  well  as  anything  that 
to  get  to  the  Eta  Bita  Pie  house,  you  go  north  from 
the  old  bricks,  past  the  new  science  hall  and  past 
Browning  Hall.  But  often  when  I  start  north  from 
the  campus,  I  find  my  way  blocked  by  the  stadium, 
and  when  I  try  to  dodge  it,  I  run  into  the  Alfalfa  Belt 
House,  and  the  Eatemalive  boarding  club,  and  other 
places  which  belong  properly  to  the  south.  And  when 
I  go  south  I  frequently  lose  sight  of  the  college  al 
together,  and  can't  for  the  life  of  me  remember  what 
the  library  tower  looks  like  or  whether  the  theological 
school  is  just  falling  down,  or  is  to  be  built  next  year ; 
or  whether  I  ought  to  turn  to  my  right,  and  ask  for 
directions  at  Prexie's  house,  or  turn  to  my  left  and 
crawl  under  a  freight  train  which  blocks  a  crossing  on 
the  Hither,  Yonder  and  Elsewhere  Railroad.  If  you 
think  it  is  an  easy  task  to  carry  a  whole  college  in  your 
head  without  getting  it  jumbled,  just  try  it  a  while. 
Then,  again,  the  Si  wash  people  puzzle  me.  Pro 
fessor  Grubb  is  always  a  trial.  That  man  alternates  a 
smooth-shaven  face  with  a  full  beard  in  the  most 
startling  manner.  Petey  Simmons  is  short  and  flaxen- 
haired,  long  and  black-haired,  and  wide  and  hatchet- 
faced  in  turns,  depending  on  the  illustrator.  I  never 
know  Ole  Skjarsen  when  I  see  him  for  the  same  rea 
son.  As  for  Prince  Hogboom,  Allie  Bangs,  Keg 
Bearick  and  the  rest  of  them,  nobody  knows  how  they 
look  but  the  artists  who  illustrated  the  stories;  and 


viii  Preface 

as  I  read  each  number  and  viewed  the  smiling  faces 
of  these  students,  I  murmured,  "  Goodness,  how  you 
have  changed ! " 

So  I  have  struggled  along  as  best  I  could  to  admin 
ister  the  affairs  of  a  college  which  is  located  nowhere, 
has  no  student  body,  has  no  endowment,  never  looks 
the  same  twice,  and  cannot  be  reached  by  any  reliable 
route.  The  situation  is  impossible.  I  must  locate  it 
somewhere.  If  you  are  interested  in  the  college 
when  you  have  read  these  few  stories,  suppose  you 
hunt  for  it  wherever  college  boys  are  full  of  applied 
deviltry  and  college  girls  are  distractingly  fair ;  where 
it  is  necessary  to  win  football  games  in  order  to  be 
half-way  contented  with  the  universe;  where  the 
spring  weather  is  too  wonderful  to  be  wasted  on 
College  Algebra  or  History  of  Art ;  and  where,  what 
ever  you  do,  or  whoever  you  like,  or  however  you  live, 
you  can't  forget  it,  no  matter  how  long  you  work  or 
worry  afterward. 

There !  I  can't  mark  it  on  the  map,  but  if  you  have 
ever  worried  a  college  faculty  you  '11  know  the  way. 

GEORGE  FITCH, 
July,  1911. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  OLE  SKJARSEN'S  FIRST  TOUCHDOWN    ...       1 

II   INITIATING  OLE 28 

III  WHEN  GREEK  MEETS  GROUCH 50 

IV  A  FUNERAL  THAT  FLASHED  IN  THE  PAN  .    .     78 
V  COLLEGES  WHILE  You  WAIT 105 

VI  THE  GREEK  DOUBLE  CROSS 135 

VII  TAKING  PACE  FROM  FATHER  TIME    .    .    .    .169 

VIII   FRAPPED  FOOTBALL 196 

IX  CUPID — THAT  OLD  COLLEGE  CHUM  .    .    .   .[223 

X  VOTES  FROM  WOMEN 253 

XI  Sic  TRANSIT  GLORIA  ALL  AMERICA  .           .  284 


IX 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Twenty-five  yards  with  four  Muggledorfer 

men  hanging  on  his  legs Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"  Aye  ent  care  to  stop,"  he  said.     "Aye  kent  suit 
you,  Master  Bost " 20 

He  pulled  himself  together  and  touched  Ole  gently    26 

There  wasn't  a  college  anywhere  around  us  that 
didn't  have  Ole's  hoof-marks  all  over  its  pride  .     33 

Martha  caused  some  mild  sensation 63 

My,  but  that  girl  was  a  wonder! 74 

"  Har  's  das  spy! "  he  yelled.     "  Kill  him,  f  alters; 
he  ban  a  spy!" 120 

We  spent  another  five  minutes  hoisting  him  aboard 
a  prehistoric  plug 125 

He  may  have  been  fat,  but  how  he  could  run!  .    .132 
Naturally  I  was  somewhat  dazzled 147 

He  was  so  bashful  that  his  voice  blushed  when  he 
used  it 151 

With  our  colors  on  and  four  particularly  wicked- 
looking  chair  legs  in  our  hands 167 

xi 


xii  Illustrations 

PAGE 

Our  peculiar  style  of  pushing  a  football  right 
through  the  thorax  of  the  whole  middle  west    .  205 

" If  you  don  't  like  that  bean  bag,  eat  it.".    ...  220 

He  invited  Miss  Spencer  to  go  street-car  riding 
'.with  him 246 

You  can  always  spot  these  family  friends  ....  252 

It  was  a  blow  between  the  eyes 264 

"  How  are  all  the  other  good  old  chaps?  "  she  said  270 

Why,  they  even  made  us  cut  chapel  to  go  walking 
with  them  .  280 


AT  GOOD  OLD  SIWASH 

CHAPTER   I 

OLE  SKJABSEN'S  FIRST  TOUCHDOWN 

AM  I  GOING  to  the  game  Saturday?  Am  I? 
Me?  Am  I  going  to  eat  some  more  food  this 
year  ?  Am  I  going  to  draw  my  pay  this  month  ?  Am 
I  going  to  do  any  more  breathing  after  I  get  this 
lungful  used  up  ?  All  foolish  questions,  pal.  Very 
silly  conversation.  Pshaw! 

Am  I  going  to  the  game,  you  ask  me?  Is  the 
sun  going  to  get  up  to-morrow  ?  You  could  n't  keep 
me  away  from  that  game  if  you  put  a  protective 
tariff  of  seventy-eight  per  cent  ad  valorem,  whatever 
that  means,  on  the  front  gate.  I  came  out  to  this 
town  on  business,  and  I  '11  have  to  take  an  extra  fare 
train  home  to  make  up  the  time;  but  what  of  that? 
I  'm  going  to  the  game,  and  when  the  Siwash  team 
comes  out  I  'm  going  to  get  up  and  give  as  near  a 
correct  imitation  of  a  Roman  mob  and  a  Polish  riot 
as  my  throat  will  stand;  and  if  we  put  a  crimp  in 
the  large-footed,  humpy-shouldered  behemoths  we  're 
going  up  against  this  afternoon,  I  'm  going  out  to 
night  and  burn  the  City  Hall.  Any  Siwash  man  who 


2  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

is  a  gentleman  would  do  it  I  '11  probably  have  to 
run  like  thunder  to  beat  some  of  them  to  it. 

You  know  how  it  is,  old  man.  Or  maybe  you  don't, 
because  you  made  all  your  end  runs  on  the  Glee 
Club.  But  I  played  football  all  through  my  college 
course  and  the  microbe  is  still  there.  In  the  fall  I 
think  football,  talk  football,  dream  football,  even 
though  I  haven't  had  a  suit  on  for  six  years.  And 
when  I  go  out  to  the  field  and  see  little  old  Siwash 
lining  up  against  a  bunch  of  overgrown  hippos  from 
a  university  with  a  catalogue  as  thick  as  a  city 
directory,  the  old  mud-and-perspiration  smell  gets 
in  my  nostrils,  and  the  desire  to  get  under  the  bunch 
and  feel  the  feet  jabbing  into  my  ribs  boils  up  so 
strong  that  I  have  to  hold  on  to  myself  with  both 
hands.  If  you  Ve  never  sat  on  a  hard  board  and 
wanted  to  be  between  two  halfbacks  with  your  hands 
on  their  shoulders,  and  the  quarter  ready  to  sock  a 
ball  into  your  solar  plexus,  and  eleven  men  daring 
you  to  dodge  'em,  and  nine  thousand  friends  and 
enemies  raising  Cain  and  keeping  him  well  propped 
up  in  the  grandstands  —  if  you  have  n't  had  that 
want  you  would  n't  know  a  healthy,  able-bodied  want 
if  you  ran  into  it  on  the  street. 

Of  course,  I  never  got  any  further  along  than  a 
scrub.  But  what 's  the  odds  ?  A  broken  bone  feels 
just  as  grand  to  a  scrub  as  to  a  star.  I  sometimes 
think  a  scrub  gets  more  real  football  knowledge  than 
a  varsity  man,  because  he  does  n't  have  to  addle  his 
brain  by  worrying  about  holding  his  job  and  keeping 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown         3 

his  wind,  and  by  dreaming  that  he  has  fumbled  a 
punt  and  presented  ninety-five  yards  to  the  hereditary 
enemies  of  his  college.  I  played  scrub  football  five 
years,  four  of  'em  under  Bost,  the  greatest  coach  who 
ever  put  wings  on  the  heels  of  a  two-hundred-pound 
hunk  of  meat;  and  while  my  ribs  never  lasted  long 
enough  to  put  me  on  the  team,  what  I  did  n't  learn 
about  the  game  you  could  put  in  the  other  fellow's 
eye. 

Say,  but  it 's  great,  learning  football  under  a  good 
coach.  It 's  the  finest  training  a  man  can  get  any 
where  on  this  old  globule.  Football  is  only  the 
smallest  thing  you  learn.  You  learn  how;  to  be 
patient  when  what  you  want  to  do  is  to  chew  some 
body  up  and  spit  him  into  the  gutter.  You  learn 
to  control  your  temper  when  it  is  on  the  high  speed, 
with  the  throttle  jerked  wide  open  and  buzzing  like 
a  hornet  convention.  You  learn,  by  having  it  told 
you,  just  how  small  and  foolish  and  insignificant  you 
are,  and  how  well  this  earth  could  stagger  along  with 
out  you  if  some  one  were  to  take  a  fly-killer  and  mash 
you  with  it.  And  you  learn  all  this  at  the  time  of 
life  when  your  head  is  swelling  up  until  you  mistake 
it  for  a  planet,  and  regard  whatever  you  say  as  a 
volcanic  disturbance. 

I  suppose  you  think,  like  the  rest  of  the  chaps  who 
never  came  out  to  practice  but  observed  the  game 
from  the  dollar-and-a-half  seats,  that  being  coached 
in  football  is  like  being  instructed  in  German  or 
calculus.  You  are  told  what  to  do  and  how  to  do 


4  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

it,  and  then  you  recite.  Far  from  it,  my  boy !  They 
don't  bother  telling  you  what  to  do  and  how  to  do 
it  on  a  big  football  field.  Mostly  they  tell  you  what 
to  do  and  how  you  do  it  And  they  do  it  artistically, 
too.  They  use  plenty  of  language.  A  football  coach 
is  picked  out  for  his  ready  tongue.  He  must  be  a 
conversationalist.  He  must  be  able  to  talk  to  a 
greenhorn,  with  fine  shoulders  and  a  needle-shaped 
head,  until  that  greenhorn  would  pick  up  the  ball  and 
take  it  through  a  Sioux  war  dance  to  get  away  from 
the  conversation.  You  can't  reason  with  football 
men.  They  're  not  logical,  most  of  them.  They  are 
selected  for  their  heels  and  shoulders  and  their  leg 
muscles,  and  not  for  their  ability  to  look  at  you 
with  luminous  eyes  and  say :  "  Yes,  Professor,  I 
think  I  understand."  The  way  to  make  'em  under 
stand  is  to  talk  about  them.  Any  man  can  understand 
you  while  you  are  telling  him  that  if  he  were  just 
a  little  bit  slower  he  would  have  to  be  tied  to  the 
earth  to  keep  up  with  it.  That  hurts  his  pride. 
And  when  you  hurt  his  pride  he  takes  it  out  on 
whatever  is  in  front  of  him  —  which  is  the  other 
team.  Never  get  in  front  of  a  football  player  when 
you  are  coaching  him. 

But  this  brings  me  to  the  subject  of  Bost  again. 
Bost  is  still  coaching  Siwash.  This  makes  his  'steenth 
year.  I  guess  he  can  stay  there  forever.  He 's 
coached  all  these  years  and  has  never  used  the  same 
adjective  to  the  same  man  twice.  There  's  a  record 
for  you !  He  's  a  little  man,  Bost  is.  He  played  end 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown         5 

on  some  Western  team  when  he  only  weighed  one 
hundred  and  forty.  Got  his  football  knowledge 
there.  But  where  he  got  his  vocabulary  is  still  a 
mystery.  He  has  a  way  of  convincing  a  man  that 
a  dill  pickle  would  make  a  better  guard  than  he  is, 
and  of  making  that  man  so  jealous  of  the  pickle 
that  he  will  perform  perfectly  unreasonable  feats 
for  a  week  to  beat  it  out  for  the  place.  He  has  a 
way  of  saying  "  Hurry  up,"  with  a  few  descriptive 
adjectives  tacked  on,  that  makes  a  man  rub  himself 
in  the  stung  place  for  an  hour;  and  oh,  how  mad 
he  can  make  you  while  he  is  telling  you  pleasantly 
that  while  the  little  fellow  playing  against  you  is 
only  a  prep  and  has  sloping  shoulders  and  weighs 
one  hundred  and  eleven  stripped,  he  is  making  you 
look  like  a  bale  of  hay  that  has  been  dumped  by  mis 
take  on  an  athletic  field.  And  when  he  gets  a  team 
in  the  gymnasium  between  halves,  with  the  game 
going  wrong,  and  stands  up  before  them  and  sizes 
up  their  insect  nerve  and  rubber  backbone  and  heredi 
tary  awkwardness  and  incredible  talent  in  doing  the 
wrong  thing,  to  say  nothing  of  describing  each  indi 
vidual  blunder  in  that  queer  nasal  clack  of  his  — 
well,  I  'd  rather  be  tied  up  in  a  great  big  frying-pan 
over  a  good  hot  stove  for  the  same  length  of  time, 
any  day  in  the  week.  The  reason  Bost  is  a  great 
coach  is  because  his  men  don't  dare  play  poorly. 
When  they  do  he  talks  to  them.  If  he  would  only 
hit  them,  or  skin  them  by  inches,  or  shoot  at  them, 
they  wouldn't  mind  it  so  much;  but  when  you  get 


6  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

on  the  field  with  him  and  realize  that  if  you  miss 
a  tackle  he  is  going  to  get  you  out  before  the  whole 
gang  and  tell  you  what  a  great  mistake  the  Creator 
made  when  He  put  joints  in  your  arms  instead  of 
letting  them  stick  out  stiff  as  they  do  any  other  sign 
post,  you  're  not  going  to  miss  that  tackle,  that 's  all. 

When  Bost  came  to  Siwash  he  succeeded  a  line  of 
coaches  who  had  been  telling  the  fellows  to  get  down 
low  and  hit  the  line  hard,  and  had  been  showing 
them  how  to  do  it  very  patiently.  Nice  fellows,  those 
coaches.  Perfect  gentlemen.  Make  you  proud  to 
associate  with  them.  They  could  take  a  herd  of 
green  farmer  boys,  with  wrists  like  mules'  ankles, 
and  by  Thanksgiving  they  would  have  them  familiar 
with  all  the  rudiments  of  the  game.  By  that  time 
the  season  would  be  over  and  all  the  schools  in  the 
vicinity  would  have  beaten  us  by  big  scores.  The 
next  year  the  last  year's  crop  of  big  farmer  boys 
would  stay  at  home  to  husk  corn,  and  the  coach  would 
begin  all  over  on  a  new  crop.  The  result  was,  we 
were  a  dub  school  at  football.  Any  school  that 
could  scare  up  a  good  rangy  halfback  and  a  line  that 
could  hold  sheep  could  get  up  an  adding  festival  at 
our  expense  any  time.  \Ye  lived  in  a  perpetual  state 
of  fear.  Some  day  we  felt  that  the  normal  school 
would  come  down  and  beat  us.  That  would  be  the 
limit  of  disgrace.  After  that  there  would  be  nothing 
left  to  do  but  disband  the  college  and  take  to  drink 
to  forget  the  past. 

But  Bost  changed  all  that  in  one  year.    He  did  n't 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown         7 

care  to  show  any  one  how  to  play  football.  He  was 
just  interested  in  making  the  player  afraid  not  to 
play  it.  When  you  went  down  the  field  on  a  punt 
you  knew  that  if  you  missed  your  man  he  would 
tell  you  when  you  came  back  that  two  stone  hitching- 
posts  out  of  three  could  get  past  you  in  a  six-foot 
alley.  If  you  missed  a  punt  you  could  expect  to  be 
told  that  you  might  catch  a  haystack  by  running  with 
your  arms  wide  open,  but  that  was  no  way  to  catch 
a  football.  Maybe  things  like  that  don't  sound  jabby 
when  two  dozen  men  hear  them !  They  kept  us  catch 
ing  punts  between  classes,  and  tackling  each  other 
all  the  way  to  our  rooms  and  back.  We  simply  had 
to  play  football  to  keep  from  being  bawled  out.  It  'a 
an  awful  thing  to  have  a  coach  with  a  tongue  like 
a  cheese  knife  swinging  away  at  you,  and  to  know 
that  if  you  get  mad  and  quit,  no  one  but  the  dear 
old  coll.  will  suffer  —  but  it  gets  the  results.  They 
use  the  same  system  in  the  East,  but  there  they  only 
swear  at  a  man,  I  believe.  Siwash  is  a  mighty  proper 
college  and  you  can't  swear  on  its  campus,  whatever 
else  you  do.  Swearing  is  only  a  lazy  man's  substitute 
for  thinking,  anyway;  and  Bost  wasn't  lazy.  He 
preferred  the  descriptive;  he  sat  up  nights  thinking 
it  out. 

We  began  to  see  the  results  before  Bost  had  been 
tracing  our  pedigrees  for  two  weeks.  First  game  of 
the  season  was  with  that  little  old  dinky  Normal 
School  which  had  been  scaring  us  so  for  the  past  five 
years.  We  had  been  satisfied  to  push  some  awkward 


8  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

halfback  over  the  line  once,  and  then  hold  on  to  the 
enemy  so  tight  he  could  n't  run ;  and  we  started  out 
that  year  in  the  same  old  way.  First  half  ended  0  to 
0,  with  our  boys  pretty  satisfied  because  they  had  kept 
the  ball  in  Normal's  territory.  Bost  led  the  team  and 
the  substitutes  into  the  overgrown  barn  we  used  for 
a  gymnasium,  and  while  we  were  still  patting  our 
selves  approvingly  in  our  minds  he  cut  loose : 

"  You  pasty-faced,  overfed,  white-livered  beanbag 
experts,  what  do  you  mean  by  running  a  beauty  show 
instead  of  a  football  game  ?  "  he  yelled.  "  Do  you 
suppose  I  came  out  here  to  be  art  director  of  a 
statuary  exhibit?  Does  any  one  of  you  imagine  for 
a  holy  minute  that  he  knows  the  difference  between 
a  football  game  and  ushering  in  a  church?  Don't 
fool  yourselves.  You  don't;  you  don't  know  any 
thing.  All  you  ever  knew  about  football  I  could 
carve  on  granite  and  put  in  my  eye  and  never  feel 
it.  Nothing  to  nothing  against  a  crowd  of  farmer 
boys  who  have  n't  known  a  football  from  a  duck's  egg 
for  more  than  a  week !  Bah !  If  I  ever  turned  the 
Old  Folks'  Home  loose  on  you  doll  babies  they  'd 
run  up  a  century  while  you  were  hunting  for  your 
handkerchiefs.  Jackson,  what  do  you  suppose  a  half 
back  is  for?  I  don't  want  cloak  models.  I  want  a 
man  who  can  stick  his  head  down  and  run.  Don't 
be  afraid  of  that  bean  of  yours ;  it  has  n't  got  any 
thing  worth  saving  in  it.  When  you  get  the  ball 
you  're  supposed  to  run  with  it  and  not  sit  around 
trying  to  hatch  it.  You,  Saunders !  You  held  that 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown         9 

other  guard  just  like  a  sweet-pea  vine.  Where  did 
you  ever  learn  that  sweet,  lovely  way  of  falling  down 
on  your  nose  when  a  real  man  sneezes  at  you  ?  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  sand  ?  Eat  it !  Eat  it !  Fill  your 
self  up  with  it.  I  want  you  to  get  in  that  line  this 
half  and  stop  something  or  I  '11  make  you  play  left 
end  in  a  fancy-work  club.  Johnson,  the  only  way  to 
get  you  around  the  field  is  to  put  you  on  wheels  and 
haul  you.  Next  time  you  grow  fast  to  the  ground 
I  'm  going  to  violate  some  forestry  regulations  and 
take  an  axe  to  you.  Same  to  you,  Briggs.  You  'd 
make  the  All- American  boundary  posts,  but  that 's 
all.  Vance,  I  picked  you  for  a  quarterback,  but  I 
made  a  mistake ;  you  ought  to  be  sorting  eggs.  That 
ball  is  n't  red  hot.  You  don't  have  to  let  go  of  it 
as  soon  as  you  get  it.  Don't  be  afraid,  nobody  will 
step  on  you.  This  is  n't  a  rude  game.  It 's  only  a 
game  of  post-office.  You  needn't  act  so  nervous 
about  it.  Maybe  some  of  the  big  girls  will  kiss  you, 
but  it  won't  hurt." 

Bost  stopped  for  breath  and  eyed  us.  We  were  a 
sick-looking  crowd.  You  could  almost  see  the  re 
marks  sticking  into  us  and  quivering.  We  had  come 
in  feeling  pretty  virtuous,  and  what  we  were  getting 
was  a  hideous  surprise. 

"  Now  I  want  to  tell  this  tea-party  something," 
continued  Bost.  "  Either  you  're  going  out  on  that 
field  and  score  thirty  points  this  last  half  or  I  'm 
going  to  let  the  girls  of  Siwash  play  your  football 
for  you.  I  'm  tired  of  coaching  men  that  are  n't  good 


10  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

at  anything  but  falling  down  scientifically  when 
they  're  tackled.  There  is  n't  a  broken  nose  among 
you.  Every  one  of  you  will  run  back  five  yards  to 
pick  out  a  soft  spot  to  fall  on.  It 's  got  to  stop. 
You  're  going  to  hold  on  to  that  ball  this  half  and 
take  it  places.  If  some  little  fellow  from  Normal 
crosses  his  fingers  and  says  '  naughty,  naughty,'  don't 
fall  on  the  ball  and  yell  *  down '  until  they  can  hear 
it  uptown.  Thirty  points  is  what  I  want  out  of  you 
this  half,  and  if  you  don't  get  'em  —  well,  you  just 
dare  to  come  back  here  without  them,  that 's  all. 
Now  get  out  on  that  field  and  jostle  somebody.  Git !  " 

Did  we  git  ?  Well,  rather.  We  were  so  mad  our 
clothes  smoked.  We  would  have  quit  the  game  right 
there  and  resigned  from  the  team,  but  we  did  n't  dare 
to.  Bost  would  have  talked  to  us  some  more.  And 
we  didn't  dare  not  to  make  those  thirty  points, 
either.  It  was  an  awful  tough  job,  but  we  did  it 
with  a  couple  over.  We  raged  like  wild  beasts.  We 
scared  those  gentle  Nonnalites  out  of  their  boots.  I 
can't  imagine  how  we  ever  got  it  into  our  heads 
that  they  could  play  football,  anyway.  When  it  was 
all  over  we  went  back  to  the  gymnasium  feeling 
righteously  triumphant,  and  had  another  hour  with 
Bost  in  which  he  took  us  all  apart  without  anaes 
thetics,  and  showed  us  how  Nature  would  have  done 
a  better  job  if  she  had  used  a  better  grade  of  lumber 
in  our  composition. 

That  day  made  the  Siwash  team.  The  school  went 
wild  over  the  score.  Bost  rounded  up  two  or  three 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown        11 

more  good  players,  and  every  afternoon  he  lashed  us 
around  the  field  with  that  wire-edged  tongue  of  his. 
On  Saturdays  we  played,  and  oh,  how  we  worked! 
In  the  first  half  we  were  afraid  of  what  Bost  would 
say  to  us  when  we  came  off  the  field.  In  the  second 
half  we  were  mad  at  what  he  had  said.  And  how 
he  did  drive  us  down  the  field  in  practice!  I  can 
remember  whole  cross  sections  of  his  talk  yet: 

"  Faster,  faster,  you  scows.  Line  up.  Quick ! 
Johnson,  are  you  waiting  for  a  stone-mason  to  set 
you  ?  Snap  the  ball.  Tear  into  them.  Low !  Low ! 
Hi-i !  You  end,  do  you  think  you  're  the  quarter 
pole  in  a  horse  race  ?  Nine  men  went  past  you  that 
time.  If  you  can't  touch  'em  drop  'em  a  souvenir 
card.  Line  up.  Faster,  faster !  Oh,  thunder,  hurry 
up !  If  you  ran  a  funeral,  center,  the  corpse  would 
spoil  on  your  hands.  Wow!  Fumble!  Drop  on 
that  ball.  Drop  on  it !  Hogboom,  you  'd  fumble  a 
loving-cup.  Use  your  hand  instead  of  your  jaw  to 
catch  that  ball.  It  is  n't  good  to  eat.  That 's  four 
chances  you  've  had.  I  could  lose  two  games  a  day 
if  I  had  you  all  the  time.  Now  try  that  signal  again 
—  low,  you  linemen ;  there  's  no  girls  watching  you. 
Snap  it ;  snap  it.  Great  Scott !  Say,  Hogboom,  come 
here.  When  you  get  that  ball,  don't  think  we  gave 
it  to  you  to  nurse.  You  're  supposed  to  start  the 
same  day  with  the  line.  We  give  you  that  ball  to 
take  forward.  Have  you  got  to  get  a  legal  permit 
to  start  those  legs  of  yours  ?  You  'd  make  a  good 
vault  to  store  footballs  in,  but  you  're  too  stationary 


12  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

for  a  fullback.  Now  I  '11  give  you  one  more 
chance  —  " 

And  maybe  Hogboom  would  n't  go  some  with  that 
chance ! 

In  a  month  we  had  a  team  that  would  n't  have  used 
past  Siwash  teams  to  hold  its  sweaters.  It  was  mad 
all  the  time,  and  it  played  the  game  carnivorously. 
Siwash  was  delirious  with  joy.  The  whole  school 
turned  out  for  practice,  and  to  see  those  eleven  men 
snapping  through  signals  up  and  down  the  field  as 
fast  as  an  ordinary  man  could  run  just  congested  us 
with  happiness.  You  've  no  idea  what  a  lovely  time 
of  the  year  autumn  is  when  you  can  go  out  after 
classes  and  sit  on  a  pine  seat  in  the  soft  dusk  and 
watch  your  college  team  pulling  off  end  runs  in  as 
pretty  formation  as  if  they  were  chorus  girls,  while 
you  discuss  lazily  with  your  friends  just  how  many 
points  it  is  going  to  run  up  on  the  neighboring 
schools.  I  never  expect  to  be  a  Captain  of  Industry, 
but  it  could  n't  make  me  feel  any  more  contented  or 
powerful  or  complacent  than  to  be  a  busted-up  scrub 
in  Siwash'  with  a  team  like  that  to  watch.  I  'm 
pretty  sure  of  that. 

But,  happy  as  we  were,  Bost  wasn't  nearly  con 
tent  He  had  ideals.  I  believe  one  of  them  must 
have  been  to  run  that  team  through  a  couple  of  brick 
flats  without  spoiling  the  formation.  Nothing  satis 
fied  him.  He  was  particularly  distressed  about  the 
fullback.  Hogboom  was  a  good  fellow  and  took  sig 
nal  practice  perfectly,  but  he  was  no  fiend.  He 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown        13 

lacked  the  vivacity  of  a  real,  first-class  Bengal  tiger. 
He  would  n't  eat  any  one  alive.  He  'd  run  until  lie 
was  pulled  down,  but  you  never  expected  him  to  ex 
plode  in  the  midst  of  seven  hostiles  and  ricochet 
down  the  field  for  forty  yards.  He  never  jumped 
over  two  men  and  on  to  another,  and  he  never  dodged 
two  ways  at  once  and  laid  out  three  men  with  stiff 
arms  on  his  way  to  the  goal.  It  was  n't  his  style. 
He  was  good  for  two  and  a  half  yards  every  time, 
but  that  did  n't  suit  Bosk  He  was  after  statistics, 
and  what  does  a  three-yard  buck  amount  to  when  you 
want  70  to  0  scores? 

The  result  of  this  dissatisfaction  was  Ole  Skjarsen. 
Late  in  September  Bost  disappeared  for  three  days 
and  came  back  leading  Ole  by  a  rope  —  at  least,  he 
was  towing  him  by  an  old  carpet-bag  when  we  sighted 
him.  Bost  found  him  in  a  lumber  camp,  he  afterward 
told  us,  and  had  to  explain  to  him  what  a  college  was 
before  he  would  quit  his  job.  He  thought  it  was 
something  good  to  eat  at  first,  I  believe.  Ole  was  a 
timid  young  Norwegian  giant,  with  a  rmk  of  white 
hair  and  a  reenforced  concrete  physique.  He  escaped 
from  his  clothes  in  all  directions,  and  was  so  green 
and  bashful  that  you  would  have  thought  we  were 
cannibals  from  the  way  he  shied  at  us  —  though,  as 
that  was  the  year  the  bright  hat-ribbons  came  in,  I 
can't  blame  him.  He  wasn't  like  anything  we  had 
ever  seen  before  in  college.  He  was  as  big  as  a  cart 
horse,  as  graceful  as  a  dray  and  as  meek  as  a  mis 
sionary.  He  had  a  double  width  smile  and  a  thin 


14  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

little  old  faded  voice  that  made  you  think  you  could 
tip  him  over  and  shine  your  shoes  on  him  with  im 
punity.  But  I  would  n't  have  tried  it  for  a  month's 
allowance.  His  voice  and  his  arms  did  n't  harmonize 
worth  a  cent.  They  were  as  big  as  ordinary  legs  — 
those  arms,  and  they  ended  in  hands  that  could  have 
picked  up  a  football  and  mislaid  it  among  their 
fingers. 

No  wonder  Ole  was  a  sensation.  He  did  n't  look 
exactly  like  football  material  to  us,  I  '11  admit.  He 
seemed  more  especially  designed  for  light  derrick 
work.  But  we  trusted  Bost  implicitly  by  that  time 
and  we  gave  him  a  royal  reception.  We  crowded 
around  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  T.  R.  capture 
straight  from  Africa,  Everybody  helped  him  register 
third  prep,  with  business-college  extras.  Then  we 
took  him  out,  harnessed  him  in  football  armor,  and 
set  to  work  to  teach  him  the  game. 

Bost  went  right  to  work  on  Ole  in  a  businesslike 
manner.  He  tossed  him  the  football  and  said: 
"  Catch  it."  Ole  watched  it  sail  past  and  then  tore 
after  it  like  a  pup  retrieving  a  stick.  He  got  it  in 
a  few  minutes  and  brought  it  back  to  where  Bost 
was  raving. 

"  See  here,  you  overgrown  fox  terrier,"  he  shouted, 
"  catch  it  on  the  fly.  Here !  "  He  hurled  it  at  him. 

"  Aye  ent  seen  no  fly,"  said  Ole,  allowing  the  ball 
to  pass  on  as  he  conversed. 

"  You  cotton-headed  Scandinavian  cattleship  bal 
last,  catch  that  ball  in  your  arms  when  I  throw  it 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown        15 

to  you,  and  don't  let  go  of  it !  "  shrieked  Bost,  shoot 
ing  it  at  him  again. 

"  Oil  right,"  said  Ole  patiently.  He  cornered  the 
ball  after  a  short  struggle  and  stood  hugging  it 
faithfully. 

"  Toss  it  back,  toss  it  back !  "  howled  Bost,  jump 
ing  up  and  down. 

"  Yu  tal  me  to  hold  it,"  said  Ole  reproachfully, 
hugging  it  tighter  than  ever. 

"  Drop  it,  you  Mammoth  Cave  of  ignorance !  " 
yelled  Bost.  "  If  I  had  your  head  I  'd  sell  it  for 
cordwood.  Drop  it !  " 

Ole  dropped  the  ball  placidly.  "Das  ban  fule 
game,"  he  smiled  dazedly.  "  Aye  ent  care  for  it. 
Eny  faller  got  a  Yewsharp  ?  " 

That  was  the  opening  chapter  of  Ole's  instruction. 
The  rest  were  just  like  it  You  had  to  tell  him  to 
do  a  thing.  You  then  had  to  show  him  how  to  do  it. 
You  then  had  to  tell  him  how  to  stop  doing  it.  After 
that  you  had  to  explain  that  he  wasn't  to  refrain 
forever  —  just  until  he  had  to  do  it  again.  Then  you 
had  to  persuade  him  to  do  it  again.  He  was  as  good- 
natured  as  a  lost  puppy,  and  just  as  hard  to  reason 
with.  In  three  nights  Bost  was  so  hoarse  that  he 
could  n't  talk.  He  had  called  Ole  everything  in  the 
dictionary  that  is  fit  to  print ;  and  the  knowledge  that 
Ole  did  n't  understand  more  than  a  hundredth  part 
of  it,  and  didn't  mind  that,  was  wormwood  to  his 
soul. 

For  all  that,  we  could  see  that  if  any  one  could 


16  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

teach  Ole  the  game  he  would  make  a  fine  player. 
He  was  as  hard  as  flint  and  so  fast  on  his  feet  that 
we  could  n't  tackle  him  any  more  than  we  could  have 
tackled  a  jack-rabbit.  He  learned  to  catch  the  ball 
in  a  night,  and  as  for  defense  —  his  one-handed 
catches  of  flying  players  would  have  made  a  National 
League  fielder  envious.  But  with  all  of  it  he  was 
perfectly  useless.  You  had  to  start  him,  stop  him, 
back  him,  speed  him  up,  throttle  him  down  and  run 
him  off  the  field  just  as  if  he  had  been  a  close- 
coupled,  next  year's  model  scootcart.  If  we  could  have 
rigged  up  a  driver's  seat  and  chauffeured  Ole,  it 
would  have  been  all  right.  But  every  other  method  of 
trying  to  get  him  to  understand  what  he  was  expected 
to  do  was  a  failure.  He  just  grinned,  took  orders, 
executed  them,  and  waited  for  more.  When  a  two- 
hundred-and-twenty-pound  man  takes  a  football, 
wades  through  eleven  frantic  scrubs,  shakes  them  all 
off,  and  then  stops  dead  with  a  clear  field  to  the  goal 
before  him  —  because  his  instructions  ran  out  when 
he  shook  the  last  scrub  —  you  can  be  pardoned  for 
feeling  hopeless  about  him. 

That  was  what  happened  the  day  before  the  Mug- 
gledorfer  game.  Bost  had  been  working  Ole  at  full 
back  all  evening.  He  and  the  captain  had  steered 
him  up  and  down  the  field  as  carefully  as  if  he  had 
been  a  sea-going  yacht.  It  was  a  wonderful  sight. 
Ole  was  under  perfect  control.  He  advanced  the  ball 
five  yards,  ten  yards,  or  twenty  at  command.  Nothing 
could  stop  him.  The  scrubs  represented  only  so 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown        17 

many  doormats  to  him.  Every  time  he  made  a  play 
he  stopped  at  the  latter  end  of  it  for  instructions. 

When  he  stopped  the  last  time,  with  nothing  be 
fore  him  but  the  goal,  and  asked  placidly,  "  Vere 
skoll  I  take  das  ball  now,  Master  Bost  ? "  I  thought 
the  coach  would  expire  of  the  heat.  He  positively 
steamed  with  suppressed  emotion.  He  swelled  and 
got  purple  about  the  face.  We  were  alarmed  and 
were  getting  ready  to  hoop  him  like  a  barrel  when 
he  found  his  tongue  at  last. 

"  You  pale-eyed,  prehistoric  mudhead,"  he  splut 
tered,  "  I  've  spent  a  week  trying  to  get  through  that 
skull  lining  of  yours.  It 's  no  use,  you  field  boulder. 
Where  do  you  keep  your  brains  ?  Give  me  a  chance 
at  them.  I  just  want  to  get  into  them  one  minute 
and  stir  them  up  with  my  finger.  To  think  that  I 
have  to  use  you  to  play  football  when  they  are  paying 
five  dollars  and  a  half  for  ox  meat  in  Kansas  City. 
Skjarsen,  do  you  know  anything  at  all  ?  " 

"  Aye  ban  getting  gude  eddication,"  said  Ole 
serenely,  "  Aye  tank  I  ban  college  f  aller  purty  sune, 
I  don't  know.  I  like  I  skoll  understand  all  das  har 
big  vorts  yu  make." 

"  You  '11  understand  them,  I  don't  think,"  moaned 
Bost.  "  You  could  n't  understand  a  swift  kick  in 
the  ribs.  You  are  a  fool.  Understand  that,  mutton- 
head  ? " 

Ole  understood.  "  Vy  for  yu  call  me  fule  ?  "  he 
said  indignantly.  "  Aye  du  yust  vat  you  say." 

<e  Ar-r-r-r !  "  bubbled  Bost,  walking  around  himself 


18  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

three  or  four  times.  "  You  do  just  what  I  say !  Of 
course  you  do.  Did  I  tell  you  to  stop  in  the  middle 
of  the  field?  What  would  Muggledorfer  do  to  you 
if  you  stopped  there  ?  " 

"  Yu  ent  tal  me  to  go  on,"  said  Ole  sullenly.  "  Aye 
go  on,  Aye  gass,  pooty  qveek  den." 

"  You  bet  you  '11  go  on,"  said  Bost.  "  Now,  look 
here,  you  sausage  material,  to-morrow  you  play  full 
back.  You  stop  everything  that  comes  at  you  from 
the  other  side.  Hear?  You  catch  the  ball  when  it 
comes  to  you.  Hear  ?  And  when  they  give  you  the 
ball  you  take  it,  and  don't  you  dare  to  stop  with  it. 
Get  that?  Can  I  get  that  into  your  head  without  a 
drill  and  a  blast?  If  you  dare  to  stop  with  that 
ball  I  '11  ship  you  back  to  the  lumber  camp  in  a  cattle 
car.  Stop  in  the  middle  of  the  field  —  Ow !  " 

But  at  this  point  we  took  Bost  away. 

The  next  afternoon  we  dressed  Ole  up  in  his  armor 

—  he  invariably  got  it  on  wrong  side  out  if  we  did  n't 
help  him  —  and  took  him  out  to  the  field.     We  con 
fidently  expected  to  promenade  all  over  Muggledorfer 

—  their  coach  was  an  innocent  child  beside  Bost  — 
and  that  was  the  reason  why  Ole  was  going  to  play. 
It  did  n't  matter  much  what  he  did. 

Ole  was  just  coming  to  a  boil  when  we  got  him 
into  his  clothes.  Best's  remarks  had  gotten  through 
his  hide  at  last.  He  was  pretty  slow,  Ole  was,  but 
he  had  begun  getting  mad  the  night  before  and  had 
kept  at  the  job  all  night  and  all  morning.  By  after 
noon  he  was  seething,  mostly  in  Norwegian.  The 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown        19 

injustice  of  being  called  a  muttonhead  all  week  for 
not  obeying  orders,  and  then  being  called  a  nmdhead 
for  stopping  for  orders,  churned  his  soul,  to  say  noth 
ing  of  his  language.  He  only  averaged  one  English 
word  in  three,  as  he  told  us  on  the  way  out  that  to-day 
he  was  going  to  do  exactly  as  he  had  been  told  or 
fill  a  martyr's  grave  —  only  that  was  n't  the  way  he 
put  it 

The  Muggledorfers  were  a  pruny-looking  lot.  We 
had  the  game  won  when  our  team  came  out  and 
glared  at  them.  Bost  had  filled  most  of  the  positions 
with  regular  young  mammoths,  and  when  you  dressed 
them  up  in  football  armor  they  were  enough  to  make 
a  Dreadnought  a  little  nervous.  The  Muggleses 
kicked  off  to  our  team,  and  for  a  few  plays  we 
plowed  along  five  or  ten  yards  at  a  time.  Then 
Ole  was  given  the  ball.  He  went  twenty-five  yards. 
Any  other  man  would  have  been  crushed  to  earth 
in  five.  He  just  waded  through  the  middle  of  the 
line  and  went  down  the  field,  a  moving  mass  of  wrig 
gling  men.  It  was  a  wonderful  play.  They  dis 
interred  him  at  last  and  he  started  straight  across 
the  field  for  Bost. 

"  Aye  ent  mean  to  stop,  Master  Bost,"  he  shouted. 
"  Dese  f  allers  bar,  dey  squash  me  down  —  " 

We  hauled  him  into  line  and  went  to  work  again. 
Ole  had  performed  so  well  that  the  captain  called  his 
signal  again.  This  time  I  hope  I  may  be  roasted  in 
a  subway  in  July  if  Ole  did  n't  run  twenty-five  yards 
with  four  Muggledorfer  men  hanging  on  his  legs. 


20  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

We  stood  up  and  yelled  until  our  teeth  ached.  It 
took  about  five  minutes  to  get  Ole  dug  out,  and  then 
he  started  for  Bost  again. 

"  Honest,  Master  Bost,  Aye  ent  mean  to  stop,"  he 
said  imploringly.  "  Aye  yust  tal  you,  dese  fallers 
ban  devils.  Aye  fule  dem  naxt  time  —  " 

"  Line  up  and  shut  up,"  the  captain  shouted.  The 
ball  was  n't  over  twenty  yards  from  the  line,  and  as 
a  matter  of  course  the  quarter  shot  it  back  to  Ole. 
He  put  his  head  down,  gave  one  mad-bull  plunge,  laid 
a  windrow  of  Muggledorfer  players  out  on  either 
side,  and  shot  over  the  goal  line  like  a  locomotive. 

We  rose  up  to  cheer  a  few  lines,  but  stopped  to 
stare.  Ole  did  n't  stop  at  the  goal  line.  He  did  n't 
stop  at  the  fence.  He  put  up  one  hand,  hurdled  it, 
and  disappeared  across  the  campus  like  a  young 
whirlwind. 

"  He  does  n't  know  enough  to  stop !  "  yelled  Bost, 
rushing  up  to  the  fence.  "  Hustle  up,  you  fellows, 
and  bring  him  back !  " 

Three  or  four  of  us  jumped  the  fence,  but  it  was 
a  hopeless  game.  Ole  was  disappearing  up  the  campus 
and  across  the  street.  The  Muggledorfer  team  was 
nonplussed  and  sort  of  indignant.  To  be  bowled  over 
by  a  cyclone,  and  then  to  have  said  cyclone  break  up 
the  game  by  running  away  with  the  ball  was  to  them 
a  new  idea  in  football.  It  was  n't  to  those  of  us  who 
knew  Ole,  however.  One  of  us  telephoned  down  to 
the  Leader  office  where  Hinckley,  an  old  team  man, 
worked,  and  asked  him  to  head  off  Ole  and  send  him 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown       21 

back.  Muggledorfer  kindly  consented  to  call  time, 
and  we  started  after  the  fugitive  ourselves. 

Ten  minutes  later  we  met  Hinckley  downtown. 
He  looked  as  if  he  had  had  a  slight  argument  with  a 
thirteen-inch  shell.  He  was  also  mad. 

"  What  was  that  you  asked  me  to  stop  ? "  he 
snorted,  pinning  himself  together.  "  Was  it  a  gorilla 
or  a  high  explosive  ?  When  did  you  fellows  begin 
importing  steam  rollers  for  the  team  ?  I  asked  him 
to  stop.  I  ordered  him  to  stop.  Then  I  went  around 
in  front  of  him  to  stop  him  —  and  he  ran  right  over 
me.  I  held  on  for  thirty  yards,  but  that 's  no  way 
to  travel.  I  could  have  gone  to  the  next  town  just 
as  well,  though.  What  sort  of  a  game  is  this,  and 
where  is  that  tow-headed  holy  terror  bound  for  ?  " 

We  gave  the  answer  up,  but  we  could  n't  give  up 
Ole.  He  was  too  valuable  to  lose.  How  to  catch  him 
was  the  sticker.  An  awful  uproar  in  the  street  gave 
us  an  idea.  It  was  Ted  Harris  in  the  only  auto  in 
town  —  one  of  the  earliest  brands  of  sneeze  vehicles. 
In  a  minute  more  four  of  us  were  in,  and  Ted  was 
chiveying  the  thing  up  the  street. 

If  you  've  never  chased  an  escaping  fullback  in 
one  of  those  pioneer  automobiles  you  've  got  some 
thing  coming.  Take  it  all  around,  a  good,  swift  man, 
running  all  the  time,  could  almost  keep  ahead  of  one. 
We  pumped  up  a  tire,  fixed  a  wire  or  two,  and 
cranked  up  a  few  times;  and  the  upshot  of  it  was 
we  were  two  miles  out  on  the  state  road  before  we 
caught  sight  of  Ole. 


22  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

He  was  trotting  briskly  when  we  caught  up  with 
him,  the  ball  under  his  arm,  and  that  patient,  resigned 
expression  on  his  face  that  he  always  had  when  Bost 
cussed  him.  "  Stop,  Ole,"  I  yelled ;  "  this  is  no 
Marathon.  Come  back.  Climb  in  here  with  us." 

Ole  shook  his  head  and  let  out  a  notch  of  speed. 

"  Stop,  you  mullethead,"  yelled  Simpson  above  the 
roar  of  the  auto  —  those  old  machines  could  roar 
some,  too.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  running  off  with 
our  ball  ?  You  're  not  supposed  to  do  hare-and- 
hounds  in  football." 

Ole  kept  on  running.  We  drove  the  car  on  ahead, 
stopped  it  across  the  road,  and  jumped  out  to  stop 
him.  When  the  attempt  was  over  three  of  us  picked 
up  the  fourth  and  put  him  aboard.  Ole  had  tramped 
on  us  and  had  climbed  over  the  auto. 

Force  would  n't  do,  that  was  plain.  "  Where  are 
you  going,  Ole  ?  "  we  pleaded  as  we  tore  along  beside 
him. 

"  Aye  ent  know,"  he  panted,  laboring  up  a  hill ; 
"  das  ban  fule  game,  Aye  tenk." 

"  Come  on  back  and  play  some  more,"  we  urged. 
"  Bost  won't  like  it,  your  running  all  over  the  country 
this  way." 

"  Das  ban  my  orders,"  panted  Ole.  "  Aye  ent  no 
fule,  yentlemen;  Aye  know  ven  Aye  ban  doing  right 
teng.  Master  Bost  he  say  '  Keep  on  running !  '  Aye 
gass  I  run  till  hal  freeze  on  top.  Aye  ent  know  why. 
Master  Bost  he  know,  I  tenk." 

"  This  is  awful,"  said  Lambert,  the  manager  of 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown        23 

the  team.  "  He  's  taken  Bost  literally  again  —  the 
chump.  He  '11  run  till  he  lands  up  in  those  pine 
woods  again.  And  that  ball  cost  the  association  five 
dollars.  Besides,  we  want  him.  What  are  we  going 
to  do?" 

"  I  know,"  I  said.  "  We  're  going  back  to  get 
Bost.  I  guess  the  man  who  started  him  can  stop 
him." 

We  left  Ole  still  plugging  north  and  ran  back  to 
town.  The  game  was  still  hanging  fire.  Bost  was 
tearing  his  hair.  Of  course,  the  Muggledorfer  fellows 
could  have  insisted  on  playing,  but  they  weren't 
anxious.  Ole  or  no  Ole,  we  could  have  walked  all 
over  them,  and  they  knew  it.  Besides,  they  were 
having  too  much  fun  with  Bost.  They  were  sitting 
around,  Indian-like,  in  their  blankets,  and  every  three 
minutes  their  captain  would  go  and  ask  Bost  with 
perfect  politeness  whether  he  thought  they  had  better 
continue  the  game  there  or  move  it  on  to  the  next 
town  in  time  to  catch  his  fullback  as  he  came  through. 

"  Of  course,  we  are  in  no  hurry,"  he  would  explain 
pleasantly ;  "  we  're  just  here  for  amusement,  any 
way  ;  and  it 's  as  much  fun  watching  you  try  to  catch 
your  players  as  it  is  to  get  scored  on.  Why  don't  you 
hobble  them,  Mr.  Bost  ?  A  fifty-yard  rope  would  n't 
interfere  much  with  that  gay  young  Percheron  of 
yours,  and  it  would  save  you  lots  of  time  rounding 
him  up.  Do  you  have  to  use  a  lariat  when  you  put 
his  harness  on  ?  " 

Fancy  Bost  having  to  take  all  that  conversation, 


24  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

with  no  adequate  reply  to  make.  When  I  got  there 
he  was  blue  in  the  face.  It  didn't  take  him  half  a 
second  to  decide  what  to  do.  Telling  the  captain 
of  the  Siwash  team  to  go  ahead  and  play  if  Muggle- 
dorfer  insisted,  and  on  no  account  to  use  that  32 
double-X  play  except  on  first  downs,  he  jumped  into 
the  machine  and  we  started  for  Ole. 

There  were  no  speed  records  in  those  days. 
Would  n't  have  made  any  difference  if  there  were. 
Harris  just  turned  on  all  the  juice  his  old  double- 
opposed  motor  could  soak  up,  and  when  we  hit  the 
wooden  crossings  on  the  outskirts  of  town  we  fellows 
in  the  tonneau  went  up  so  high  that  we  changed  sides 
coming  down.  It  was  n't  over  twenty  minutes  till 
we  sighted  a  little  cloud  of  dust  just  beyond  a  little 
town  to  the  north.  Pretty  soon  we  saw  it  was  Ole. 
He  was  still  doing  his  six  miles  per.  We  caught  up 
and  Bost  hopped  out,  still  mad. 

"  Where  in  Billy-be-blamed  are  you  going,  you 
human  trolley  car  ? "  he  spluttered,  sprinting  along 
beside  Skjarsen.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  breaking 
up  a  game  in  the  middle  and  vamoosing  with  the  ball  ? 
Do  you  think  we  're  going  to  win  this  game  on  mile 
age?  Turn  around,  you  chump,  and  climb  into 
this  car." 

Ole  looked  around  him  sadly.  He  kept  on  run 
ning  as  he  did.  "  Aye  ent  care  to  stop,"  he 
said.  "  Aye  kent  suit  you,  Master  Bost.  You 
tal  me  Aye  skoll  du  a  teng,  den  you  cuss  me  for 
duing  et.  You  tal  me  not  to  du  a  teng  and  you  cuss 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown       25 

me  some  more  den.  Aye  tenk  I  yust  keep  on  a-run- 
ning,  lak  yu  tal  me  tu  last  night.  Et  ent  so  hard 
bein'  cussed  ven  yu  ban  running." 

"  I  tell  you  to  stop,  you  potato-top,"  gasped  Bost. 
By  this  time  he  was  fifteen  yards  behind  and  losing 
at  every  step.  He  had  wasted  too  much  breath  on 
oratory.  We  picked  him  up  in  the  car  and  set  him 
alongside  of  Ole  again. 

"  See  here,  Ole,  I  'm  tired  of  this,"  he  said,  sprint 
ing  up  by  him  again.  "  The  game  's  waiting.  Come 
on  back.  You  're  making  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  Eny  teng  Aye  du  Aye  ban  beeg  fule,"  said  Ole 
gloomily.  "  Aye  yust  keep  on  runnin'.  Fallers 
ent  got  breath  to  call  me  fule  ven  Aye  run.  Aye 
tenk  das  best  vay." 

We  picked  Bost  up  again  thirty  yards  behind. 
Maybe  he  would  have  run  better  if  he  had  n't  choked 
so  in  his  conversation.  In  another  minute  we  landed 
him  abreast  of  Ole  again.  He  got  out  and  sprinted 
for  the  third  time.  He  wabbled  as  he  did  it 

"  Ole,"  he  panted,  "  I  've  been  mistaken  in  you. 
You  are  all  right,  Ole.  I  never  saw  a  more  intel 
ligent  fellow.  I  won't  cuss  you  any  more,  Ole.  If 
you  '11  stop  now  we  '11  take  you  back  in  an  automobile 
—  hold  on  there  a  minute ;  can't  you  see  I  'm  all  out 
of  breath  ?  " 

"  Aye  ban  gude  f  aller,  den  ? "  asked  Ole,  letting 
out  another  link  of  speed. 

"  You  are  a  "  —  puff-puff  —  "  peach,  Ole,"  gasped 
Bost.  "  I  '11  "  —  puff-puff  —  "  never  cuss  you  again. 


26  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Please  "  —  puff-puff  —  "  stop !  Oh,  hang  it,  I  'm 
all  in."  And  Bost  sat  down  in  the  road. 

A  hundred  yards  on  we  noticed  Ole  slacken  speed. 
"  It 's  sinking  through  his  skull,"  said  Harris  eagerly. 
In  another  minute  he  had  stopped.  We  picked  up 
Bost  again  and  ran  up  to  him.  He  surveyed  us  long 
and  critically. 

"  Das  ban  qveer  masheen,"  he  said  finally.  "  Aye 
tenk  Aye  lak  Aye  skoll  be  riding  back  in  it.  Aye  ent 
care  for  das  f utball  game,  Aye  gass.  It  ban  tu  much 
running  in  it." 

We  took  Ole  back  to  town  in  twenty-two  minutes, 
three  chickens,  a  dog  and  a  back  spring.  It  was  close 
to  five  o'clock  when  he  ran  out  on  the  field  again. 
The  Muggledorfer  team  was  still  waiting.  Time 
was  no  object  to  them.  They  would  only  play  ten 
minutes,  but  in  that  ten  minutes  Ole  made  three 
scores.  Five  substitutes  stood  back  of  either  goal  and 
asked  him  with  great  politeness  to  stop  as  he  tore  over 
the  line.  And  he  did  it.  If  any  one  else  had  run  six 
miles  between  halves  he  would  have  stopped  a  good 
deal  short  of  the  line.  But  as  far  as  we  could  see, 
it  had  n't  winded  Ole. 

Bost  went  home  by  himself  that  night  after  the 
game,  not  stopping  even  to  assure  us  that  as  a  team 
we  were  beneath  his  contempt.  The  next  afternoon 
he  was,  if  anything,  a  little  more  vitriolic  than  ever 
—  but  not  with  Ole.  Toward  the  middle  of  the 
signal  practice  he  pulled  himself  together  and  touched 
Ole  gently. 


He  pulled  himself  together 
and  touched  Ole  gently 

Page  26 


Ole  Skjarsen's  First  Touchdown       27 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Skjarsen,"  he  said  apologetically, 
"  if  it  will  not  annoy  you  too  much,  would  you  mind 
running  the  same  way  the  rest  of  the  team  does  ?  I 
don't  insist  on  it,  mind  you,  but  it  looks  so  much 
better  to  the  audience,  you  know." 

"  Jas,"  said  Ole ;  "  Aye  ban.  f  ule,  Aye  gass,  but 
yu  ban  tu  polite  to  say  it." 


CHAPTER   H 

INITIATING    OLE 

WERE  you  ever  Hamburgered  by  a  real,  live 
college  fraternity?  I  mean,  were  you  ever 
initiated  into  full  brotherhood  by  a  Greek-letter  so 
ciety  with  the  aid  of  a  baseball  bat,  a  sausage-making 
machine,  a  stick  of  dynamite  and  a  corn-sheller  ? 
What 's  that  ?  You  say  you  belong  to  the  Up-to-Date 
Wood-choppers  and  have  taken  the  josh  degree  in  the 
Noble  Order  of  Prong-Horned  Wapiti?  Forget  it. 
Those  aren't  initiations.  They  are  rest  cures.  I  went 
into  one  of  those  societies  which  give  horse-play  in 
itiations  for  middle-aged  daredevils  last  year  and  was 
bored  to  death  because  I  forgot  to  bring  my  knitting. 
They  are  stiff  enough  for  fat  business  men  who  never 
do  anything  more  exciting  than  to  fall  over  the  lawn 
mower  in  the  cellar  once  a  year ;  but,  compared  with 
a  genuine,  eighteen-donkey-power  college  frat  initia 
tion  with  a  Spanish  Inquisition  attachment,  the  little 
degree  teams,  made  up  of  grandfathers,  feel  like  a 
slap  on  the  wrist  delivered  by  a  young  lady  in  frail 
health. 

Mind  you,  I  'm  not  talking  about  the  baby-ribbon 
affairs  that  the  college  boys  use  nowadays.    It  does  n't 


Initiating  Ole  29 

seem  to  be  the  fashion  to  grease  the  landscape  with 
freshmen  any  more.  Initiations  are  getting  to  be  as 
safe  and  sane  as  an  ice-cream  festival  in  a  village 
church.  When  a  frat  wants  to  submit  a  neophyte  to 
a  trying  ordeal  it  sends  him  out  on  the  campus  to 
climb  a  tree,  or  makes  him  go  to  a  dance  in  evening 
clothes  with  a  red  necktie  on.  A  boy  who  can  roll 
a  peanut  half  a  mile  with  a  toothpick,  or  can  fish  all 
morning  in  a  pail  of  water  in  front  of  the  college 
chapel  without  getting  mad  and  trying  to  thrash  any 
one  is  considered  to  be  lion-hearted  enough  to  orna 
ment  any  frat.  These  are  mollycoddle  times  in  all 
departments.  I  'm  glad  I  'm  out  of  college  and  am 
catching  street  cars  in  the  rush  hours.  That  is  about 
the  only  job  left  that  feels  like  the  good  old  times 
in  college  when  muscles  were  made  to  jar  some  one 
else  with. 

Eight  or  ten  years  ago,  when  a  college  fraternity 
absorbed  a  freshman,  the  job  was  worth  talking  about. 
There  was  no  half-way  business  about  it  The 
freshman  could  tell  at  any  stage  of  the  game  that 
something  was  being  done  to  him.  They  just  ate 
him  alive,  that  was  all.  Why,  at  Siwash,  where 
I  was  lap-welded  into  the  Eta  Bita  Pies,  any  fra 
ternity  which  initiated  a  candidate  and  left  enough 
of  him  to  appear  in  chapel  the  next  morning  was  the 
joke  of  the  school.  Even  the  girls'  fraternities  gave 
it  the  laugh.  The  girls  used  to  do  a  little  quiet 
initiating  themselves,  and  when  they  received  a  sister 
into  membership  you  could  generally  follow  her  mad 


30  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

career  over  the  town  by  a  trail  of  hairpins,  "  rats  " 
and  little  fragments  of  dressgoods. 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  pledgling  of  a  good 
high-pressure  frat  wrote  to  his  mother  the  night  be 
fore  he  was  taken  in  and  telegraphed  her  when  he 
found  himself  alive  in  the  morning.  There  used  to 
be  considerable  rivalry  between  the  frats  at  Siwash  in 
the  matter  of  giving  a  freshman  a  good,  hospitable 
time.  I  remember  when  the  Sigh  Whoopsilons  hung 
young  Allen  from  the  girder  of  an  overhead  railroad 
crossing,  and  let  the  switch  engines  smoke  him  up  for 
two  hours  as  they  passed  underneath,  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  jealousy  among  the  rest  of  us  who  had  n't 
thought  of  it.  The  Alfalfa  Belts  went  them  one 
better  by  tying  roller  skates  to  the  shoulders  and  hips 
of  a  big  freshman  football  star  and  hauling  him 
through  the  main  streets  of  Jonesville  on  his  back, 
behind  an  automobile,  and  the  Chi  Yi's  covered  a 
candidate  with  plaster  of  Paris,  with  blow-holes  for 
his  nose,  sculptured  him  artistically,  and  left  him 
before  the  college  chapel  on  a  pedestal  all  night.  The 
Delta  Kappa  Sonofaguns  set  fire  to  their  house  once 
by  shooting  Roman  candles  at  a  row  of  neophytes  in 
the  cellar,  and  we  had  to  turn  out  at  one  A.M.  one 
winter  morning  to  help  the  Delta  Flushes  dig  a  fresh 
man  out  of  their  chimney.  They  had  been  trying  to 
let  him  down  into  the  fireplace,  and  when  he  got  stuck 
they  had  poked  at  him  with  a  clothes  pole  until  they 
had  mussed  him  up  considerably.  This  just  shows 
you  what  a  gay  life  the  young  scholar  led  in  the  days 


Initiating  Ole  31 

when  every  ritual  had  claws  on,  and  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  soothing  syrup  in  the  equipment  of  a 
college. 

Of  all  the  frats  at  Siwash  the  Eta  Bita  Pies,  when 
I  was  in  college,  were  preeminent  in  the  art  of  near- 
killing  freshmen.  We  used  to  call  our  initiation  "  A 
little  journey  to  the  pearly  gates,"  and  once  or  twice 
it  looked  for  a  short  time  as  if  the  victim  had  mis 
laid  his  return  ticket.  Treat  yourself  to  an  election 
riot,  a  railway  collision  and  a  subway  explosion,  all 
in  one  evening,  and  you  will  get  a  rather  sketchy 
idea  of  what  we  aimed  at.  I  don't  mean,  of  course, 
that  we  ever  killed  any  one.  There  is  no  real  danger 
in  an  initiation,  you  know,  if  the  initiate  does  exactly 
as  he  is  told  and  the  members  don't  get  careless  and 
something  that  was  n't  expected  does  n't  happen  —  as 
did  when  we  tied  Tudor  Snyder  to  the  south  track 
while  an  express  went  by  on  the  north  track,  and  then 
had  the  time  of  our  young  lives  getting  him  off  ahead 
of  a  wild  freight  which  we  had  n't  counted  on.  All 
we  ever  aimed  at  was  to  make  the  initiate  so  thankful 
to  get  through  alive  that  he  would  love  Eta  Bita  Pie 
forever,  and  I  must  say  we  usually  succeeded.  It  is 
wonderful  what  a  young  fellow  will  endure  cheer 
fully  for  the  sake  of  passing  it  on  to  some  one  else 
the  next  year.  I  remember  I  was  pretty  mad  when 
my  Eta  Bita  Pie  brethren  headed  me  up  in  a  barrel  and 
rolled  me  downhill  into  a  creek  without  taking  the 
trouble  to  remove  all  the  nails.  It  seemed  like  wanton 
carelessness.  But  long  before  my  nose  was  out  of 


32  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

splints  and  my  hide  would  hold  water  I  was  perfecting 
our  famous  "  Lover's  Leap  "  for  the  next  year's  bunch. 
That  was  our  greatest  triumph.  There  was  an  aban 
doned  rock  quarry  north  of  town  with  thirty  feet  of 
water  in  the  bottom  and  a  fifty-foot  drop  to  the 
water.  By  means  of  a  long  beam  and  a  system  of 
pulleys  we  could  make  a  freshman  walk  the  plank 
and  drop  off  into  the  water  in  almost  perfect  safety, 
providing  the  ropes  did  n't  break.  It  created  a  sen 
sation,  and  the  other  frats  were  mad  with  jealousy. 
We  took  every  man  we  wanted  the  next  fall  before 
the  authorities  put  a  stop  to  the  scheme.  That  shows 
you  just  how  repugnant  the  idea  of  being  initiated 
is  to  the  green  young  collegian. 

Of  course,  fraternity  initiations  are  supposed  to  be 
conducted  for  the  amusement  of  the  chapter  and  not 
of  the  candidate.  But  you  can't  always  entirely  tell 
what  will  happen,  especially  if  the  victim  is  husky 
and  unimpressionable.  Sometimes  he  does  a  little 
initiating  himself.  And  that  reminds  me  that  I 
started  out  to  tell  a  story  and  not  to  give  a  lecture 
on  the  polite  art  of  making  veal  salad.  Did  I  ever 
tell  you  of  the  time  when  we  initiated  Ole  Skjarsen 
into  Eta  Bita  Pie,  and  how  the  ceremony  backfired 
and  very  nearly  blew  us  all  into  the  discard  ?  No  ? 
Well,  don't  get  impatient  and  look  in  the  back  of 
the  book.  I  '11  tell  it  now  and  cut  as  many  corners 
as  I  can. 

As  I  have  told  you  before,  Ole  Skjarsen  was  a  little 
slow  in  grasping  the  real  beauties  of  football  science. 


There  wasn't  a  college  anywhere  around  us  that  didn't  have 
Ole's  hoofmarks  all  over  its  pride 

Page  33 


Initiating  Ole  33 

It  took  him  some  time  to  uncoil  his  mind  from  the 
principles  of  woodchopping  and  concentrate  it  on 
the  full  duty  of  man  in  a  fullback's  position.  He 
nearly  drove  us  to  a  sanitarium  during  the  process, 
but  when  he  once  took  hold,  mercy  me,  how  he  did 
progress  from  hither  to  yon  over  the  opposition !  He 
was  the  wonder  fullback  of  those  times,  and  at  the 
end  of  three  years  there  was  n't  a  college  anywhere 
that  did  n't  have  Ole's  hoofmarks  all  over  its  pride. 
Oh,  he  was  a  darling.  To  see  him  jumping  sideways 
down  a  football  field  with  the  ball  under  his  arm, 
landing  on  some  one  of  the  opposition  at  every  jump 
and  romping  over  the  goal  line  with  tacklers  hanging 
to  him  like  streamers  would  have  made  you  want  to 
vote  for  him  for  Governor.  Ole  was  the  greatest  man 
who  ever  came  to  Siwash.  Prexy  had  always  been 
considered  some  personage  by  the  outside  world,  but 
he  was  only  a  bump  in  the  background  when  Ole  was 
around. 

Of  course  we  all  loved  Ole  madly,  but  for  all  that 
he  didn't  make  a  frat.  He  didn't,  for  the  same 
reason  that  a  rhinoceros  does  n't  get  invited  to  garden 
parties.  He  did  n't  seem  to  fit  the  part.  Not  only 
his  clothes,  but  also  his  haircuts  were  hand-me-down. 
He  regarded  a  fork  as  a  curiosity.  His  language 
was  a  sort  of  a  head-on  collision  between  Norwegian 
and  English  in  which  very  few  words  had  come  out 
undamaged.  In  social  conversation  he  was  out  of 
bounds  nine  minutes  out  of  ten,  and  it  kept  three 
men  busy  changing  the  subject  when  he  was  in  full 


34  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

swing.  He  could  dodge  eleven  men  and  a  referee 
on  the  football  field  without  trying,  but  put  him  in  a 
forty  by  fifty  room  with  one  vase  in  it,  and  he  could  n't 
dodge  it  to  save  his  life. 

No,  he  just  naturally  did  n't  fit  the  part,  and  up 
to  his  senior  year  no  fraternity  had  bid  him.  This 
grieved  Ole  so  that  he  retired  from  football  just  be 
fore  the  Kiowa  game  on  which  all  our  young  hearts 
were  set,  and  before  he  would  consent  to  go  back 
and  leave  some  more  of  his  priceless  foot-tracks  on 
the  opposition  we  had  to  pledge  him  to  three  of  our 
proudest  fraternities.  Talk  of  wedding  a  favorite 
daughter  to  the  greasy  villain  in  the  melodrama  in 
order  to  save  the  homestead!  No  crushed  father, 
with  a  mortgage  hanging  over  him  in  the  third  act, 
could  have  felt  one-half  so  badly  as  we  Eta  Bita  Pies 
did  when  we  had  pledged  Ole  and  realized  that  all 
the  rest  of  the  year  we  would  have  to  climb  over  him 
in  our  beautiful,  beamed-ceiling  lounging-room  and 
parade  him  before  the  world  as  a  much-loved  brother. 

But  the  job  had  to  be  done,  and  all  three  frats  took 
a  melancholy  pleasure  in  arranging  the  details  of  the 
initiation.  We  decided  to  make  it  a  three-night 
demonstration  of  all  that  the  Siwash  frats  had  learned 
in  the  art  of  imitating  dynamite  and  other  disinte- 
grants.  The  Alfalfa  Belts  were  to  get  first  crack  at 
him.  They  were  to  be  followed  on  the  second  night 
by  the  Chi  Yi  Sighs,  who  were  to  make  him  a  brother, 
dead  or  alive.  On  the  third  night  we  of  Eta  Bita 
Pie  were  to  take  the  remains  and  decorate  them  with 


Initiating  Ole  35 

our  fraternity  pin  after  ceremonies  in  which  being 
kicked  by  a  mule  would  only  be  considered  a  two- 
minute  recess. 

We  fellows  knew  that  when  it  came  to  initiating 
Ole  we  would  have  to  do  the  real  work.  The  other 
f  rats  could  n't  touch  it.  They  might  scratch  him  up  a 
bit,  but  they  lacked  the  ingenuity,  the  enthusiasm  — • 
I  might  say  the  poetic  temperament  —  to  make  a 
good  job  of  it.  We  determined  to  put  on  an  initia 
tion  which  would  make  our  past  efforts  seem  like  the 
effort  of  an  old  ladies'  home  to  start  a  rough-house. 
It  was  a  great  pleasure,  I  assure  you,  to  plan  that 
initiation.  We  revised  our  floor  work  and  added  some 
cellar  and  garret  and  ceiling  and  second-story  work 
to  it.  We  began  the  program  with  the  celebrated  third 
degree  and  worked  gradually  from  that  up  to  the 
twenty-third  degree,  with  a  few  intervals  of  simple 
assault  and  battery  for  breathing  spells.  When  we 
had  finished  doping  out  the  program  we  shook  hands 
all  around.  It  was  a  masterpiece.  It  would  have 
made  Battenberg  lace  out  of  a  steam  boiler. 

Ole  was  initiated  into  the  Alfalfa  Delts  on  a 
Wednesday  night.  We  heard  echoes  of  it  from  our 
front  porch.  The  next  morning  only  three  of  the 
Alfalfa  Delts  appeared  at  chapel,  while  Ole  was  out 
at  six  A.  M.,  roaming  about  the  campus  with  the 
Alfalfa  Belt  pin  on  his  necktie.  The  next  night  the 
Chi  Yi  Sighs  took  him  on  for  one  hundred  and  seven 
teen  rounds  in  their  brand  new  lodge,  which  had  a 
sheet-iron  initiation  den.  The  whole  thing  was  a 


36  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

fizzle.  When  we  looked  Ole  over  the  next  morning 
we  couldn't  find  so  much  as  a  scratch  on  him.  He 
was  wearing  the  Chi  Yi  pin  beside  the  Alfalfa  Delt 
pin,  and  he  was  as  happy  as  a  baby  with  a  bottle  of 
ink.  There  were  nine  broken  window-lights  in  the 
Chi  Yi  lodge,  and  we  heard  in  a  roundabout  way 
that  they  called  in  the  police  about  three  A.  M.  to 
help  them  explain  to  Ole  that  the  initiation  was  over. 
That 's  the  kind  of  a  trembling  neophyte  Ole  was. 
But  we  just  giggled  to  ourselves.  Anybody  could 
break  up  a  Chi  Yi  initiation,  and  the  Alfalfa  Delts 
were  a  set  of  narrow-chested  snobs  with  automobile 
callouses  instead  of  muscles.  We  ate  a  hasty  dinner 
on  Friday  evening  and  set  all  the  scenery  for  the  big 
scrunch.  Then  we  put  on  our  old  clothes  and  waited 
for  Ole  to  walk  into  our  parlor. 

He  was  n't  due  until  nine,  but  about  eight  o'clock 
he  came  creaking  up  the  steps  and  dented  the  door 
with  his  large  knuckles  in  a  bashful  way.  He  looked 
larger  and  knobbier  than  ever  and,  if  anything,  more 
embarrassed.  We  led  him  into  the  lounging-room  in 
silence,  and  he  sat  down  twirling  his  straw  hat.  It 
was  October,  and  he  had  worn  the  thing  ever  since 
school  opened.  Other  people  who  wore  straw  hats  in 
October  get  removed  from  under  them  more  or  less 
violently;  but,  somehow,  no  one  had  felt  called  upon 
to  maltreat  Ole.  We  hated  that  hat,  however,  and 
decided  to  begin  the  evening's  work  on  it 

"  Your  hat,  Mr.  Skjarsen,"  said  Bugs  Wilbur  in 
majestic  tones. 


Initiating  Ole  37 

Ole  reached  the  old  ruin  out.  Wilbur  took  it  and 
tossed  it  into  the  grate.  Ole  upset  four  or  five  of  us 
who  couldn't  get  out  of  the  way  and  rescued  the 
hat,  which  was  blazing  merrily. 

"  Ent  yu  gat  no  sanse  ?  "  he  roared  angrily.  "  Das 
ban  a  gude  hat."  He  looked  at  it  gloomily.  "  Et 
ban  spoiled  now,"  he  growled,  tossing  the  remains 
into  a  waste-paper  basket.  "  Yu  ban  purty  f  allers. 
Vat  for  yu  do  dat  ?  " 

The  basket  was  full  of  papers  and  things.  In 
about  four  seconds  it  was  all  ablaze.  Wilbur  tried 
to  go  over  and  choke  it  off,  but  Ole  pushed  him 
back  with  one  forefinger. 

"  Yust  stay  avay,"  he  growled.  "  Das  basket  ent 
costing  some  more  as  my  hat,  I  gass." 

We  stood  around  and  watched  the  basket  burn. 
We  also  watched  a  curtain  blaze  up  and  the  finish 
on  a  nice  mahogany  desk  crack  and  blister.  It  was 
all  very  humorous.  The  fire  kindly  went  out  of  its 
own  accord,  and  some  one  tiptoed  around  and  opened 
the  windows  in  a  timid  sort  of  way.  It  was  a  very 
successful  initiation  so  far  —  only  we  were  the 
neophytes. 

"This  won't  do,"  muttered  "  Allie "  Bangs,  our 
president.  He  got  up  and  went  over  to  Ole.  "  Mr. 
Skjarsen,"  he  said  severely,  "  you  are  here  to  be  in 
itiated  into  the  awful  mysteries  of  Eta  Bita  Pie.  It 
is  not  fitting  that  you  should  enter  her  sacred  boun 
daries  in  an  unfettered  condition.  Submit  to  the 
brethren  that  they  may  blindfold  you  and  bind  you 


38  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

for  the  ordeals  to  come."  Gee,  but  we  used  to  use 
hand-picked  language  when  we  were  unsheathing  our 
claws ! 

Ole  growled.  "  Ol  rite,"  he  said.  "  But  Aye  tal 
yu  ef  yu  fallers  burn  das  har  west  lak  yu  burn  ma 
hat  I  skoll  raise  ruffhaus  like  deekins !  " 

We  tied  his  hands  behind  him  with  several  feet  of 
good  stout  rope  and  hobbled  him  about  the  ankles 
with  a  dog  chain.  Then  we  blindfolded  him  and  put 
a  pillowslip  over  his  head  for  good  measure.  Things 
began  to  look  brighter.  Even  a  demon  fullback  has 
to  have  one  or  two  limbs  working  in  order  to  accom 
plish  anything.  When  all  was  fast  Bangs  gave  Ole 
a  preliminary  kick.  "  Now,  brethren,"  he  roared, 
"  bring  on  the  Macedonian  guards  and  give  them  the 
neophyte !  " 

Now  I  'm  not  revealing  any  real  initiation  secrets, 
mind  you,  and  maybe  what  I  'm  telling  you  did  n't 
exactly  happen.  But  you  can  be  perfectly  sure  that 
something  just  as  bad  did  happen  every  time.  For 
an  hour  we  abused  that  two  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  of  gristle  and  hide.  It  was  as  much  fun  as 
roughhousing  a  two-ton  safe.  We  rolled  him  down 
stairs.  He  broke  out  sixty  dollars'  worth  of  balus 
trade  on  the  way  and  he  did  n't  seem  to  mind  it  at 
all.  We  tried  to  toss  him  in  a  blanket.  Ever  have 
a  two-hundred-and-twenty-pound  man  land  on  you 
coming  down  from  the  ceiling?  We  got  tired  of 
that.  We  made  him  play  automobile.  Ever  play 
automobile?  They  tie  roller  skates  and  an  automo- 


Initiating  Ole  39 

bile  horn  on  you  and  push  you  around  into  the 
furniture,  just  the  way  a  real  automobile  runs  into 
things.  We  broke  a  table,  five  chairs,  a  French  win 
dow,  a  one-hundred-dollar  vase  and  seven  shins.  We 
did  n't  even  interest  Ole.  When  a  man  has  plowed 
through  leather-covered  football  players  for  three 
years  his  head  gets  used  to  hitting  things.  Also  his 
heels  will  fly  out  no  matter  how  careful  you  are. 
We  took  him  into  the  basement  and  performed  our 
famous  trick  of  boiling  the  candidate  in  oil.  Of 
course  we  wanted  to  scare  him.  He  accommodated 
us.  He  broke  away  and  hopped  stiff-legged  all  over 
the  room.  That  was  n't  so  bad,  but,  confound  it,  he 
hopped  on  us  most  of  the  time !  How  would  you  like 
to  initiate  a  bronze  statue  that  got  scared  and  hopped 
on  you  ? 

We  got  desperate.  We  threw  aside  the  formality 
of  explaining  the  deep  significance  of  each  action  and 
just  assaulted  Ole  with  everything  in  the  house.  We 
prodded  him  with  furnace  tools  and  thumped  him 
with  cordwood  and  rolling-pins  and  barrel-staves  and 
shovels.  We  walked  over  him,  a  dozen  at  a  time. 
And  all  the  time  we  were  getting  it  worse  than  he 
was.  He  did  n't  exactly  fight,  but  whenever  his  elbows 
twitched  some  fellow's  face  would  happen  to  be  in 
the  way,  and  he  could  n't  move  his  knee  without  get 
ting  it  tangled  in  some  one's  ribs.  You  could  hear 
the  thunders  of  the  assault  and  the  shrieks  of  the 
wounded  for  a  block. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  we  were  positively  all  in. 


40  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

There  weren't  three  of  us  unwounded.  The  house 
was  a  wreck.  Wilbur  had  a  broken  nose.  "  Chick  " 
Struthers'  kneecap  hurt.  "  Lima  "  Bean's  ribs  were 
telescoped,  and  there  was  n't  a  good  shin  in  the  house. 
We  quit  in  disgust  and  sat  around  looking  at  Ole. 
He  was  sitting  around,  too.  He  happened  to  be  sit 
ting  on  Bangs,  who  was  yelling  for  help.  But  we 
did  n't  feel  like  starting  any  relief  expedition. 

Ole  was  some  rumpled,  and  his  clothes  looked  as  if 
they  had  been  fed  into  a  separator.  But  he  was  intact, 
as  far  as  we  could  see.  He  was  still  tied  and  blind 
folded,  and  I  hope  to  be  buried  alive  in  a  branch-line 
town  if  he  was  n't  getting  bored. 

"  Vat  fur  yu  qvit  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  ent  fun  setting 
around  har." 

Then  Petey  Simmons,  who  had  been  taking  a  minor 
part  in  the  assault  in  order  to  give  his  wheels  full 
play,  rose  and  beckoned  the  crowd  outside.  We  left 
Ole  and  clustered  around  him. 

"  Now,  this  won't  do  at  all,"  he  said.  "  Are  we 
going  to  let  Eta  Bita  Pie  be  made  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  college  ?  If  we  can't  initiate  that  human  quartz 
mill  by  force  let 's  do  it  by  strategy.  I  've  got  a  plan. 
You  just  let  me  have  Ole  and  one  man  for  an  hour 
and  I  '11  make  him  so  glad  to  get  back  to  the  house 
that  he  '11  eat  out  of  our  hands." 

We  were  dead  ready  to  turn  the  job  over  to  Petey, 
though  we  hated  to  see  him  put  his  head  in  the  lion's 
mouth,  so  to  speak.  I  hated  it  worse  than  any  of  the 
others  because  he  picked  me  for  his  assistant.  We 


Initiating  Ole  41 

went  in  and  found  Ole  dozing  in  the  corner.  Petey 
prodded  him.  "  Get  up !  "  he  said. 

Ole  got  up  cheerfully.  Petey  took  the  dog  chain 
off  of  his  legs.  Then  he  threw  his  sub-cellar  voice 
into  gear. 

"  Skjarsen,"  he  rumbled,  "  you  have  passed  right 
well  the  first  test  of  our  noble  order.  You  have  faced 
the  hideous  dangers  which  were  in  reality  but  shams 
to  prove  your  faith,  and  you  have  borne  your  suffer 
ings  patiently,  thus  proving  your  meekness." 

I  let  a  couple  of  grins  escape  into  my  sweater-sleeve. 
Oh,  yes,  Ole  had  been  meek  all  right. 

"  It  remains  for  you  to  prove  your  desire,"  said 
Petey  in  curdled  tones.  "  Listen !  "  He  gave  the  Eta 
Bita  Pie  whistle.  We  had  the  best  whistle  in  college. 
It  was  six  notes  —  a  sort  of  insidious,  inviting  thing 
that  you  could  slide  across  two  blocks,  past  all  manner 
of  barbarians,  and  into  a  frat  brother's  ear  without 
disturbing  any  one  at  all.  Petey  gave  it  several  times. 
"  Now,  Skjarsen,"  he  said,  "  you  are  to  follow  that 
whistle.  Let  no  obstacle  discourage  you.  Let  no  bar 
rier  stop  you.  If  you  can  prove  your  loyalty  by  fol 
lowing  that  whistle  through  the  outside  world  and  back 
to  the  altar  of  Eta  Bita  Pie  we  will  ask  no  more  of 
you.  Come  on !  " 

We  tiptoed  out  of  the  cellar  and  whistled.  Ole  fol 
lowed  us  up  the  steps.  That  is,  he  did  on  the  second 
attempt.  On  the  first  he  fell  down  with  melodious 
thumps.  We  hugged  each  other,  slipped  behind  a 
tree  and  whistled  again. 


42  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Ole  charged  across  the  yard  and  into  the  tree.  The 
line  held.  I  heard  him  say  something  in  Norwegian 
that  sounded  secular.  By  that  time  we  were  across 
the  street.  There  was  a  low  railing  around  the  park 
ing,  and  when  we  whistled  again  Ole  walked  right  into 
the  railing.  The  line  held  again. 

Oh,  I  '11  tell  you  that  Petey  boy  was  a  wonder  at 
getting  up  ideas.  Think  of  it!  Benjamin  Franklin, 
Thomas  Edison,  Christopher  Columbus,  old  Bill 
Archimedes  and  all  the  rest  of  the  wise  guys  had 
overlooked  this  simple  little  discovery  of  how  to  make 
a  neophyte  initiate  himself.  It  was  too  good  to  be 
true.  We  held  a  war  dance  of  pure  delight,  and  we 
whistled  some  more.  We  got  behind  stone  walls,  and 
whistled.  We  climbed  embankments,  and  whistled. 
We  slid  behind  blackberry  bushes  and  ash  piles  and 
across  ditches  and  over  hedge  fences,  and  whistled. 
We  were  so  happy  we  could  hardly  pucker.  Think 
of  it!  There  was  Ole  Skjarsen,  the  most  uncontrol 
lable  force  in  Nature,  following  us  like  a  yellow  pup 
with  his  dinner  three  days  overdue.  It  was  as 
fascinating  as  guiding  a  battleship  by  wireless. 

We  slipped  across  a  footbridge  over  Cedar  Creek, 
and  whistled.  Ole  missed  the  bridge  by  nine  yards. 
There  isn't  much  water  in  Cedar  Creek,  but  what 
there  is  is  strong.  It  took  Ole  fifteen  minutes  to 
climb  the  other  bank,  owing  to  a  beautiful  collection  of 
old  barrel-hoops,  corsets,  crockery  and  empty  tomato 
cans  which  decorated  the  spot.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
blindfolded  man,  with  his  hands  tied  behind  his  back, 


Initiating  Ole  43 

trying  to  climb  over  a  city  dump  ?  No  ?  Of  course 
not,  any  more  than  you  have  seen  a  green  elephant. 
But  it 's  a  fine  sight,  I  assure  you.  When  Ole  got 
out  of  the  creek  we  whistled  him  dexterously  into  a 
barnyard  and  right  into  the  maw  of  a  brindle  bull- 
pup  with  a  capacity  of  one  small  man  in  two  bites 
—  we  being  safe  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  be 
yond  the  reach  of  the  chain.  Maybe  that  was  mean, 
but  Eta  Bita  Pie  is  not  to  be  trifled  with  when  she 
is  aroused.  Anyway,  the  bull  got  the  worst  of  it. 
He  only  got  one  bite.  Ole  kicked  in  the  barn  door 
on  the  first  try,  and  demolished  a  corn  sheller  on 
the  second ;  but  on  the  third  he  hit  the  pup  squarely 
abeam  and  dropped  a  beautiful  goal  with  him.  We 
went  around  to  see  the  dog  the  next  day.  He  looked 
quite  natural.  You  would  almost  think  he  was 
alive. 

It  was  here  that  we  began  to  smell  trouble.  I  had 
my  suspicions  when  we  whistled  again.  There  was 
a  pretty  substantial  fence  around  that  barnyard,  but 
Ole  did  n't  wait  to  find  the  gate. 

He  came  through  the  fence  not  very  far  from  us. 
He  was  conversing  under  that  mangled  pillowslip, 
and  we  heard  fragments  sounding  like  this : 

"  Purty  soon  Aye  gat  yu  —  yu  spindle-shank,  vite- 
f  ace,  skagaroot-smokin'  dudes !  Ugh  —  ump !  "  — 
here  he  caromed  off  a  tree.  "  Ven  Aye  gat  das  blind 
fold  off,  Aye  gat  yu  —  yu  Baked-Pie  galoots !  — 
TJgh !  Wow !  "  —  barbed-wire  fence.  "  Vistle  sum 
more,  yu  vide-trousered  polekats.  Aye  make  yu 


44  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

vistle,  Aye  bet  yu,  rite  avay !  Tip  —  pllp  —  pllp !  " 
That 's  the  kind  of  noise  a  man  makes  when  he 
walks  into  a  horse-trough  at  full  speed. 

"  Gee !  "  said  Petey  nervously.  "  I  guess  we  've 
given  him  enough.  He  's  getting  sort  of  peevish.  I 
don't  believe  in  being  too  cruel.  Let 's  take  him  back 
now.  You  don't  suppose  he  can  get  his  hands  loose, 
do  you?" 

I  did  n't  know.  I  wished  I  did.  Of  course,  when 
you  wateh  a  lion  trying  to  get  at  you  from  behind 
a  fairly  strong  cage  you  feel  perfectly  safe,  but  you 
feel  safer  when  you  are  somewhere  else,  just  the 
same.  We  got  out  on  the  pavement  and  gave  a  gentle 
whistle. 

"  Aye  har  yu !  "  roared  Ole,  coming  through  a 
chicken  yard.  "  Aye  har  yu,  you  leetle  Baked  Pies ! 
Aye  gat  yu  purty  soon.  Yust  vait." 

We  did  n't  wait.  We  put  on  a  little  more  gasoline 
and  started  for  the  f rat  house.  We  did  n't  have  to 
whistle  any  more.  Ole  was  right  behind  us.  We 
could  hear  him  thundering  on  the  pavement  and 
pleading  with  us  in  that  rich,  nutty  dialect  of  his 
to  stop  and  have  our  heads  pounded  on  the  bricks. 

I  shudder  yet  when  I  think  of  all  the  things  he 
promised  to  do  to  us.  We  went  down  that  street  like 
a  couple  of  Roman  gladiators  pacing  a  hungry  bear, 
and,  by  tangling  Ole  up  in  the  parkings  again,  man 
aged  to  get  home  a  few  yards  ahead. 

There  was  an  atmosphere  of  arnica  and  dejection 
in  the  house  when  we  got  there.  Ill-health  seemed 


Initiating  Ole  45 

to  be  rampant.  "  Did  you  lose  him  ?  "  asked  Bangs 
hopefully  from  behind  a  big  bandage. 

"  Lose  him  ?  "  says  I  with  a  snort.  "  Oh,  yes,  we 
lost  him  all  right.  He  loses  just  like  a  foxhound. 
That 's  him,  falling  over  the  front  steps  now.  You 
can  stay  and  entertain  him;  I  'm  going  upstairs." 

Everybody  came  along.  We  piled  chairs  on  the 
stairs  and  listened  while  Ole  felt  his  way  over  the 
porch.  In  about  a  minute  he  found  the  door.  Then 
he  came  right  in.  I  had  locked  the  door,  but  I  had 
neglected  to  reenforce  it  with  concrete  and  boiler 
iron.  Ole  wore  part  of  the  frame  in  with  him. 

"  Come  on,  yu  Baked  Pies !  "  he  shouted. 

"  You  're  in  the  wrong  house,"  squeaked  that  little 
fool,  Jimmy  Skelton. 

"  Yu  kent  fule  me !  "  said  Ole,  crashing  around 
the  loafing-room.  "  Aye  yust  can  tal  das  haus  by  har 
skagaroot  smell.  Come  on,  yu  leetle  fallers!  Aye 
bet  aye  inittyate  yu  some,  tu ! " 

By  this  time  he  had  found  the  stairs  and  was  plow 
ing  through  the  furniture.  We  retired  to  the  third 
floor.  When  twenty-seven  fellows  go  up  a  three-foot 
stairway  at  once  it  necessarily  makes  some  noise.  Ole 
heard  us  and  kept  right  on  coming. 

We  grabbed  a  bureau  and  a  bed  and  barricaded 
the  staircase.  There  was  a  ladder  to  the  attic.  I 
was  the  last  man  up  and  my  heart  was  giving  my 
ribs  all  kinds  of  massage  treatment  before  I  got  up. 
We  hauled  up  the  ladder  just  as  Ole  kicked  the 
bureau  downstairs,  and  then  we  watched  him  charge 


46  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

over  our  beautiful  third-floor  dormitory,  leaving  ruin 
in  his  wake. 

Maybe  he  would  have  been  satisfied  with  breaking 
the  furniture.  But,  of  course,  a  few  of  us  had  to 
sneeze.  Ole  hunted  those  sneezes  all  over  the  third 
floor.  He  could  n't  reach  them,  but  he  sat  down  on 
the  wreck  underneath  them. 

"  Aye  ent  know  vere  yu  f  allers  ban,"  he  said,  "  but 
Aye  kin  vait.  Aye  har  yu,  yu  Baked  Pies!  Aye 
gat  yu  yet,  by  yimminy!  Yust  come  on  down  ven 
yu  ban  ready." 

Oh,  yes,  we  were  ready  —  I  don't  think.  It  was 
a  perfectly  lovely  predicament.  Here  was  the  Damma 
Yappa  chapter  of  Eta  Bita  Pie  penned  up  in  a 
deucedly-cold  attic  with  one  lone  initiate  guarding 
the  trapdoor.  Nice  story  for  the  college  to  tell  when 
the  police  rescued  us!  Nice  end  of  our  reputation 
as  the  best  neophyte  jugglers  in  the  school!  Makes 
me  shiver  now  to  think  of  it. 

We  sat  around  in  that  garret  and  listened  to  the 
clock  strike  in  the  library  tower  across  the  campus. 
At  eleven  o'clock  Ole  promised  to  kill  the  first  man 
who  came  down.  That  bait  caught  no  fish.  At 
twelve  he  begged  for  the  privilege  of  kicking  us  out 
of  our  own  house,  one  by  one.  At  one  o'clock  he  re 
marked  that,  while  it  was  pretty  cold,  it  was  much 
colder  in  Norway,  where  he  came  from,  and  that,  as 
we  would  freeze  first,  we  might  as  well  come  down. 

At  two  o'clock  we  were  all  stiff.  At  three  we  were 
kicking  the  plaster  off  of  the  joists,  trying  to  keep 


Initiating  Ole  47 

from  freezing  to  death.  At  four  a  bunch  of  Sopho 
mores  were  all  for  throwing  Petey  Simmons  down  as 
a  sacrifice.  Petey  talked  them  out  of  it.  Petey  could 
talk  a  stone  dog  into  wagging  its  tail. 

We  sat  in  that  garret  from  ten  p.  M.  until  the  year 
after  the  great  pyramid  wore  down  to  the  ground.  At 
least  that  was  the  length  of  time  that  seemed  to  pass. 
It  must  have  been  about  five  o'clock  when  Petey 
stopped  kicking  his  feet  on  the  chimney  and  said : 

"  Well,  fellows,  I  have  an  idea.  It  may  work  or 
it  may  not,  but  —  " 

"  Shut  up,  you  mental  desert !  "  some  one  growled. 
"  Another  of  your  fine  ideas  will  wreck  this  frat." 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  continued  Petey  cheerfully, 
"  it  may  not  succeed,  but  it  will  not  hurt  any  one 
but  me  if  it  does  n't.  I  'm  going  to  be  the  Daniel 
in  this  den.  But  first  I  want  the  officers  of  the  chap 
ter  to  come  up  around  the  scuttle-hole  with  me." 

Five  of  us  crept  over  to  the  hole  and  looked  down. 
"Aye  har  yu,  yu  leetle  Baked  Pies!"  said  Ole, 
waking  in  an  instant.  "  Yust  come  on  down.  Aye 
ban  vaiting  long  enough  to  smash  yu !  " 

"  Mr.  Skjarsen,"  began  Petey  in  the  regular  dark- 
lantern  voice  that  all  secret  societies  use  —  "  Mr. 
Skjarsen  —  for  as  such  we  must  still  call  you  —  the 
final  test  is  over.  •  You  have  acquitted  yourself  nobly. 
You  have  been  faithful  to  the  end.  You  have  stood 
your  vigil  unflinchingly.  You  have  followed  the  call 
of  Eta  Bita  Pie  over  every  obstacle  and  through 
every  suffering." 


48  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

"  Aye  ban  following  him  leetle  f  urder,  if  Aye  had 
ladder,"  said  Ole  in  a  bloodthirsty  voice.  "  Ven  Aye 
ban  getting  at  yu,  Aye  play  hal  vid  yu  Baked  Pies !  " 

"  And  now,"  said  Petey,  ignoring  the  interruption, 
"  the  final  ceremony  is  at  hand.  Do  not  fear.  Your 
trials  are  over.  In  the  dark  recesses  of  this  secret 
chamber  above  you  we  have  discussed  your  bearing 
in  the  trials  that  have  beset  you.  It  has  pleased  us. 
You  have  been  found  worthy  to  continue  toward  the 
high  goal.  Ole  Skjarsen,  we  are  now  ready  to  re 
ceive  you  into  full  membership." 

"  Come  rite  on !  "  snorted  Ole.  "  Aye  receeve  yu 
into  membership  all  rite.  Yust  come  on  down." 

"  It  won't  work,  Petey,"  Bangs  groaned.  Petey 
kicked  his  shins  as  a  sign  to  shut  up. 

"  Ole  Skyjarsen,  son  of  Skjar  Oleson,  stand  up!  " 
he  said,  sinking  his  voice  another  story. 

Ole  got  up.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  he  was 
getting  interested. 

"  The  president  of  this  powerful  order  will  now 
administer  the  oath,"  said  Petey,  shoving  Bangs 
forward. 

So  there,  at  five  A.  M.,  with  the  whole  chapter  treed 
in  a  garret,  and  the  officers,  the  leading  lights  of 
Siwash,  crouching  around  a  scuttle  and  shivering 
their  teeth  loose,  we  initiated  Ole  Skjarsen.  It  was 
impressive,  I  can  tell  you.  When  it  came  to  the  part 
where  the  neophyte  swears  to  protect  a  brother,  even 
if  he  has  to  wade  in  blood  up  to  his  necktie,  Bangs 
bore  down  beautifully  and  added  a  lot  of  extra  frills. 


Initiating  Ole  49 

The  last  words  were  spoken.  Ole  was  an  Eta  Bita 
Pie.  Still,  we  weren't  very  sanguine.  You  might 
interest  a  man-eater  by  initiating  him,  but  would 
you  destroy  his  appetite  ?  There  was  no  grand  rush 
for  the  ladder. 

As  Ole  stood  waiting,  however,  Petey  swung  him 
self  down  and  landed  beside  him.  He  cut  the  ropes 
that  bound  his  wrists,  jerked  off  the  pillowslip  and 
cut  off  the  blindfold.  Then  he  grabbed  Ole's  masto- 
donic  paw. 

"  Shake,  brother !  "  he  said. 

Nobody  breathed  for  a  few  seconds.  It  was  darned 
terrifying,  I  can  tell  you.  Ole  rubbed  his  eyes  with 
his  free  hand  and  looked  down  at  the  morsel  hang 
ing  on  to  the  other. 

"  Shake,  Ole !  "  insisted  Petey.  "  You  went 
through  it  better  than  I  did  when  I  got  it." 

I  saw  the  rudiments  of  a  smile  begin  to  break  out 
on  Ole's  face.  It  grew  wider.  It  got  to  be  a  grin; 
then  a  chasm  with  a  sunrise  on  either  side. 

He  looked  up  at  us  again,  then  down  at  Petey. 
Then  he  pumped  Petey's  arm  until  the  latter  danced 
like  a  cork  bobber. 

"  By  ying,  Aye  du  et !  "  he  shouted.  "  Ve  ban  gude 
fallers,  ve  Baked  Pies,  if  ve  did  broke  my  nose." 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  Ole  ?  "  some  one  shouted. 

"  He  's  all  right !  "  we  yelled.  Then  we  came 
down  out  of  the  garret  and  made  a  rush  for  the 
furnace. 


CHAPTER   III 

WHEN   GEEEK    MEETS    GROUCH 

IT  's  a  cinch  that  college  life  would  be  a  whole  lot 
more  congested  with  pleasure  if  it  was  n't  for 
the  towns  that  the  colleges  are  in.  I  don't  mean  that 
a  town  around  a  college  hasn't  its  uses.  Wherever 
you  find  a  town  you  can  find  lunch  counters  and 
theaters  with  galleries  from  which  you  can  learn  the 
drama  at  a  quarter  a  throw,  and  street  cars  that 
can  be  tampered  with,  and  wooden  sidewalks  that 
burn  well  on  celebration  nights,  and  nice  girls  who 
began  being  nice  four  college  generations  ago  and 
never  forgot  how.  All  of  these  things  about  a  town 
are  mighty  handy  when  it  comes  to  getting  a  higher 
education  in  a  good,  live  college  where  you  don't 
have  to  tunnel  through  three  feet  of  moss  to  find  the 
college  customs.  But  even  all  this  can't  reconcile 
me  to  the  way  a  town  butts  into  college  affairs.  It 
is  something  disgusting. 

You  know  it  yourself,  Bill.  Didn't  you  go  to 
Yellagain  where  the  police  arrested  the  whole  Fresh 
man  class  for  painting  the  Sophomores  green  ?  Well, 
it 's  the  same  way  all  over.  No  sooner  does  a  col 
lege  town  get  big  enough  to  support  a  rudimentary 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  51 

policeman  who  peddles  vegetables  when  he  is  n't  put 
ting  down  anarchy  than  it  gets  busy  and  begins  to 
regulate  the  college  students.  And  the  bigger  it  gets 
the  more  regulating  it  wants  to  do.  Why,  they  tell 
me  that  at  the  University  of  Chicago  there  has  n't 
been  a  riot  for  nine  years,  and  that  over  in  Wash 
ington  Park,  three  blocks  away,  an  eleven-ton  statue 
of  old  Chris.  Columbus  has  lain  for  ages  and  no 
college  class  has  had  spirit  enough  to  haul  it  out 
on  the  street-car  tracks.  That 's  what  regulating  a 
college  does  for  it.  There  are  more  policemen  in 
Chicago  than  there  are  students  in  the  University. 
If  you  give  your  yell  off  the  campus  you  have  to  get 
a  permit  from  the  city  council.  It 's  worse  than  that 
in  Philadelphia,  they  tell  me.  Why,  there,  if  a  col 
lege  student  comes  downtown  with  a  flareback  coat 
and  heart-shaped  trousers  and  one  of  those  nifty  little 
pompadour  hats  that  are  brushed  back  from  the  brow 
to  give  the  brains  a  chance  to  grow,  they  arrest  him 
for  collecting  a  crowd  and  disturbing  traffic.  No, 
sir,  no  big-town  college  for  me.  Getting  college  life 
in  those  places  reminds  me  of  trying  to  get  that 
world-wide  feeling  on  ice-cream  soda.  There  's  as 
much  chance  in  one  as  in  the  other. 

Excuse  me  for  getting  sore,  but  that 's  the  way  I 
do  when  I  begin  to  talk  about  college  towns.  They 
don't  know  their  •  places.  Take  Jonesville,  where 
Siwash  is,  for  instance.  When  Siwash  College  was 
founded  by  "  that  noble  band  of  Christian  truth 
seekers,"  as  the  catalogue  puts  it,  Jonesville  was  a 


52  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

mud-hole  freckled  with  houses.  The  railroad  trains 
whistled  "  get  out  of  my  way  "  to  the  town  when 
they  whooped  through  it,  and  when  you  went  into  a 
merchant's  store  and  woke  him  up  he  started  off  home 
to  dinner  from  force  of  habit.  The  only  thing  they 
ever  regulated  there  was  the  clock.  They  regulated 
that  once  a  year  and  usually  found  that  it  was  two 
or  three  days  behind  time.  Had  n't  noticed  it  at  all. 

That  'a  what  Jonesville  was  when  Siwash  started. 
You  can  bet  for  the  first  forty  years  they  did  n't  do 
much  regulating  around  the  college.  The  students 
just  let  the  town  stay  there  because  it  was  quiet. 
The  citizens  used  to  elect  town  marshals  over  seventy 
years  old,  so  their  gray  hairs  would  protect  them 
from  the  students,  and  when  the  boys  had  won  a 
debate  or  a  ball  game  and  wanted  to  burn  a  barn  or 
two  to  cheer  up  the  atmosphere  at  evening,  nothing 
at  all  was  said  —  at  least  out  loud.  Jonesville  was 
meek  enough,  you  bet.  Why,  back  in  the  seventies 
the  students  used  to  vote  at  town  elections,  and  once 
for  a  joke  they  all  voted  for  old  "  Apple  Sally  "  for 
president  of  the  village  board.  Made  her  serve,  too. 
Talk  about  regulating!  Did  you  ever  see  a  farmer's 
dog  go  out  and  try  to  regulate  a  sixty-horse-power 
automobile  ?  That 's  about  as  much  as  Jonesville 
would  have  regulated  us  thirty  years  ago. 

But,  of  course,  having  a  real  peppery  college  in 
its  midst,  Jonesville  could  n't  help  but  grow.  People 
came  and  started  boarding-houses.  There  had  to  be 
restaurants  and  bookstores  and  necktie  emporiums, 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  53 

too,  and  pretty  soon  the  railroad  built  a  couple  of 
branches  into  town  and  started  the  division  shops. 
Then  Jonesville  woke  up  and  walked  right  past  old 
Siwash.  In  ten  years  it  had  street  cars,  paved  streets, 
water-works,  a  political  machine  and  a  city  debt,  as 
large  as  the  law  would  allow.  And  worse  than  that, 
it  had  a  police  force.  It  had  nine  officers  in  uniform, 
most  of  whom  could  read  and  write  and  swing  big 
clubs  with  a  strictly  American  accent.  Nice  sort  of 
a  thing  to  turn  loose  in  a  quiet  college  town.  This 
was  long  before  my  time,  but  they  tell  me  that  the 
students  held  indignation  meetings  for  a  week  after 
the  first  arrest  was  made.  You  see,  the  students  at 
Siwash  always  had  their  own  rules  and  lived  up  to 
them  strictly.  The  Faculty  put  them  on  their  honor 
and  that  honor  was  never  abused.  Students  were  not 
allowed  to  burn  the  college  buildings  nor  kill  the 
professors.  These  rules  were  never  broken,  and 
naturally  the  boys  felt  rather  insulted  when  the  city 
turned  loose  a  horde  of  blue-coated  busybodies  to 
interfere  with  things  that  did  n't  concern  them. 

Still,  Siwash  got  along  very  well  even  after  the 
police  force  was  organized.  You  see,  after  a  town 
has  had  a  college  in  its  middle  for  about  fifty  years, 
pretty  much  everybody  in  town  has  attended  it  at  one 
time  or  another.  None  of  the  police  had  diplomas, 
but  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  to  see  an  ex-member 
of  a  college  debating  society  delivering  groceries,  or 
an  ex-president  of  his  class  getting  up  in  an  engine 
cab  to  take  the  flyer  into  the  city.  For  years  every 


54  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

police  magistrate  was  an  old  Siwash  man,  and,  though 
plenty  of  the  boys  would  get  arrested,  there  were 
never  any  thirty-day  complications  or  anything  of 
the  sort.  Two  classes  would  meet  on  the  main  street 
and  muss  each  other  up.  The  police  would  arrest 
nine  or  ten  of  the  ringleaders.  The  next  morning 
the  prisoners  would  appear  before  Squire  Jennings, 
who  climbed  up  on  the  old  college  building  with  his 
class  flag  in  '54  and  kept  a  rival  class  away  by  tearing 
down  the  chimney  and  throwing  the  bricks  at  them. 
Naturally,  nothing  very  deadly  happened.  The  good 
old  fellow  would  lecture  the  crowd  and  let  them  off 
with  a  stern  warning.  Maybe  two  or  three  Seniors 
would  come  home  late  at  night  from  their  frat  hall 
and  take  a  wooden  Indian  cigar  sign  along  with  them 
just  for  company.  One  of  those  Indians  is  such  a 
steady  sort  of  a  chap  to  have  along  late  at  night.  Of 
course,  they  would  be  arrested  by  old  Hank  Anderson 
on  the  courthouse  beat,  but  it  was  n't  anything  serious. 
They  would  telephone  Frank  Hinckley,  who  was 
editor  of  the  city  daily,  and  just  convalescing  from 
four  years  of  college  life  himself,  and  he  would  come 
down  and  bail  them  out,  and  Squire  Jennings  would 
kick  them  out  of  court  next  morning.  Frank  was 
the  patron  saint  of  the  students  for  years  when  it 
came  to  bail.  He  used  to  say  he  had  all  the  fun 
of  being  a  doctor  and  getting  called  out  nights  with 
out  having  to  try  to  collect  any  fees.  Frank  was  no 
Croesus  those  days  and  I  've  seen  him  go  bail  for 
fifteen  students  at  one  hundred  dollars  apiece,  when 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  55 

his  total  assets  amounted  to  a  dress  suit,  three  hun 
dred  and  forty-five  photographs  and  his  next  week's 
salary. 

By  the  time  I  had  come  to  college,  getting  arrested 
had  gotten  to  be  a  regular  formality.  A  Freshman 
would  go  up  Main  Street  at  night,  trying  to  hide  a 
nine-foot  board  sign  under  his  spring  overcoat. 
Halvor  Skoogerson,  a  pale-eyed  guardian  of  the 
peace,  who  was  studying  up  to  be  a  naturalized, 
would  arrest  him  for  theft,  riot,  disorderly  conduct, 
suspicious  appearance  and  intoxication,  not  under 
standing  why  any  sober  man  would  want  to  carry  a 
young  lumber-yard  home  under  his  coat  at  night. 
The  prisoner  would  telephone  for  Hinckley,  who 
would  crawl  out  of  bed,  come  downtown  cussing,  and 
bail  away  in  sleepy  tones.  The  next  morning  the 
freshie  would  go  up  before  Squire  Jennings,  who 
would  ask  him  in  awful  accents  if  he  realized  that 
the  state  penitentiary  was  only  four  hours  away  by 
fast  train,  and  that  many  a  man  was  boarding  there 
who  would  blush  to  be  seen  in  the  company  of  a  man 
who  had  stolen  a  nine-foot  sign  and  carried  it  down 
Main  Street,  interfering  with  pedestrians,  when  there 
was  a  perfectly  good  alley  which  ought  to  be  used 
for  such  purposes.  Then  he  would  warn  the  culprit 
that  the  next  time  he  was  caught  lugging  off  a  bill 
board  or  a  wooden  platform  or  a  corncrib  he  would 
be  compelled  to  put  it  back  again  before  he  got  break 
fast;  after  which  he  would  tell  him  to  go  along  and 
try  studying  for  a  change,  and  the  Freshman  would 


56  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

go  back  to  college  and  join  the  hero  brigade.  It  was 
a  mighty  meek  man  in  Siwash  who  could  n't  get  ar 
rested  those  days.  Even  the  hymn  singers  at  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  had  criminal  records.  It  got  so,  finally, 
that  whenever  we  had  a  nightshirt  parade  in  honor 
of  any  little  college  victory  the  line  of  march  would 
lead  right  through  the  police  station.  We  knew  what 
was  coming  and  would  save  the  cops  the  trouble  of 
hauling  us  over  in  the  hustle  wagon. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  it  was  about  as  much  fun  to 
be  regulated  as  it  was  to  run  the  town.  But  one 
night  Squire  Jennings  put  his  other  foot  into  the 
grave  and  died  entirely;  and  before  any  of  us 
realized  what  was  happening  a  special  election  had 
been  held  and  Malachi  Scroggs  had  been  elected  police 
magistrate. 

Malachi  Scroggs  was  a  triple  extract  of  grouch 
who  lived  on  the  north  side  two  miles  away  from 
college  in  a  big  white  house  with  one  of  those  old- 
fashioned  dog-house  affairs  on  top  of  it.  He  was  an 
acrimonious  quarrel  all  by  himself.  Sunlight  soured 
when  it  struck  him.  I  have  seen  a  fox  terrier  who 
had  been  lying  perfectly  happy  on  the  sidewalk,  get 
up  after  Scroggs  had  passed  him  and  go  over  and 
bite  an  automobile  tire.  He  lived  on  gloom  and  law 
suits  and  the  last  time  he  smiled  was  1878  —  that 
was  when  a  small  boy  fell  nineteen  feet  out  of  a 
tree  while  robbing  his  orchard,  and  the  doctor  said 
he  would  never  be  able  to  rob  any  more  orchards. 

This  was  the  kind  of  mental  astringent  Malachi 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  57 

was.  Naturally,  he  loved  the  gay  and  happy  little 
college  boys.  Oh,  how  he  loved  us!  He  had  com 
plained  to  the  police  regularly  during  each  celebration 
for  twenty  years  and  he  had  expressed  the  opinion, 
publicly,  that  a  college  boy  was  a  cross  between  a 
hyena  and  a  grasshopper  with  a  fog-horn  attachment 
thrown  in  free  of  charge.  He  was  n't  a  college  man 
himself,  you  see  —  never  could  find  one  where  the 
students  did  n't  use  slang,  probably,  and  he  just  nat 
urally  did  n't  understand  us  at  all.  Of  course,  we 
did  n't  mind  that.  It 's  no  credit  to  carry  an  inter 
linear  translation  of  your  temperament  on  your  face. 
So  long  as  he  kept  in  his  own  yard  and  quarreled  with 
his  own  dog  for  not  feeding  on  Freshmen  more  en 
thusiastically,  we  got  along  as  nicely  as  the  Egyptian 
Sphinx  and  John  L.  Sullivan.  Even  when  he  was 
elected  police  magistrate  we  did  n't  object.  In  fact, 
we  did  n't  bumpity-bump  to  the  situation  until  we 
went  up  against  him  in  court. 

Part  of  the  Senior  class  had  been  having  a  little 
choir  practice  in  one  of  the  town  restaurants.  It 
was  a  lovely  affair  and  there  was  n't  a  more  cheerful 
crowd  of  fellows  on  earth  than  they  were  when  they 
marched  down  the  street  at  one  A.  M.  eighteen  abreast 
and  singing  one  of  the  dear  old  songs  in  a  kind  of  a 
steam-siren  barytone. 

Now  they  had  never  attempted  to  regulate  mere 
noise  in  Jonesville,  but  that  night  a  brand-new  police 
man  had  gone  on  the  courthouse  beat,  and  blamed  if 
he  did  n't  arrest  the  whole  bunch  for  disturbing  the 


58  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

peace  —  when  they  hadn't  broken  a  single  thing, 
mind  you.  They  were  pretty  mad  about  it  at  first; 
but  after  all  it  was  only  a  joke,  and  when  Hinckley 
got  down  to  bail  them  out  they  were  singing  with 
great  feeling  a  song  which  Jenkins,  the  class  poet, 
had  just  composed,  and  which  ran  as  follows: 

"  As  we  walked  along  the  street 
Officer  Sikes  we  chanced  to  meet, 
And  his  shoes  were  full  of  feet 
As  he  prowled  along  his  beat. 
He  took  us  down  and  locked  us  up; 
Left  us  in  charge  of  a  Norsky  Cop, 
And  we  didn't  get  home  till  early  in  the  morning." 

Hold  that  "  morning  "  as  long  as  you  can  and  ton- 
sorialize  to  beat  the  band.  Even  the  desk  sergeant 
enjoyed  it. 

When  the  bunch  lined  up  the  next  morning  in 
police  court  there  was  Judge  Scroggs.  They  felt 
as  if  they  ought  to  treat  him  nicely,  he  being  a  new 
comer  and  all  of  them  being  very  familiar  with  the 
ropes;  and  Emmons,  the  class  president,  started  ex 
plaining  to  him  that  it  was  all  a  mistake.  Scroggs 
bit  him  off  with  a  voice  that  sounded  like  a  terrier 
snapping  at  a  fly. 

"  We  're  here  to  correct  these  mistakes,"  he  said. 
"  You  were  all  singing  on  the  public  street  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  were  n't  you  ?  " 

"  We  were  trying  to,"  said  Emmons,  still  friendly. 

"  Ten  days  apiece,"  said  the  magistrate.  "  Call 
the  next  case." 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  59 

If  any  one  had  removed  the  floor  from  under  these 
Seniors  and  let  them  drop  one  thousand  and  one  feet 
into  space  they  could  n't  have  felt  more  shocked. 
Even  the  clerk  and  the  desk  sergeant  were  amazed. 
They  tried  to  help  explain,  but  the  human  vinegar- 
cruet  turned  around  and  spat  the  following  through 
his  clenched  teeth: 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  been  appointed  to  sit  on  this 
bench  and  I  don't  need  any  help.  Any  more  ob 
jections  will  be  in  contempt  of  court.  Sergeant, 
remove  these  young  thugs  and  have  them  sent  to  the 
workhouse  at  once." 

Maybe  you  don't  think  the  college  seethed  when 
the  news  got  out.  There  were  the  leading  lights  of 
the  school,  including  the  president  of  the  Senior 
class,  the  chairman  of  the  Junior  promenade,  two 
halfbacks,  the  pitcher  on  the  baseball  team  and  the 
president  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  all  on  the  works  for 
ten  days,  along  with  as  choice  an  assortment  of  plain 
drunks  and  fancy  resters  as  you  could  find  in  ninety 
miles  of  mainline  railroad.  The  students  fairly  went 
mad  and  bit  at  the  air.  Even  the  Faculty  got  busy 
and  Prexy  dropped  over  to  the  police  court  to  square 
it.  He  came  out  a  minute  later  very  white  around 
the  mouth.  I  don't  know  what  Old  Maledictions 
said  to  him,  but  it  was  a  great  sufficiency,  I  guess. 
He  seemed  as  insulted  as  Lord  Tennyson  might  have 
been  if  the  milkman  had  pulled  his  whiskers. 

There  wasn't  a  thing  to  be  done.  The  Faculty 
appealed  to  the  mayor,  but  old  Scroggs  had  some 


60  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

regular  Spanish-bit  hold  on  him  in  the  way  of  a 
short-time  note,  I  guess,  and  he  washed  his  hands  of 
the  whole  affair.  Our  college  great  men  were  hauled 
out  to  the  works  and  served  their  time.  When  they 
got  out  they  were  sights.  They  weren't  strong  on 
sanitation  in  workhouses  in  those  days.  Even  their 
friends  shook  hands  with  them  with  tongs.  Think 
of  sixteen  proud  monarchs  of  the  campus  making 
brick  in  striped  suits,  with  a  cross  foreman  who  used 
to  haul  ashes  from  the  college  campus  lording  it  over 
them  and  tracing  their  ancestry  back  through  thirty 
generations  of  undesirable  citizens !  Nice,  was  n't 
it?  Oh,  very! 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  sad  and  serious  year 
for  Siwash.  For  the  first  time  Scroggs  enjoyed  col 
lege  boys.  Soaking  students  got  to  be  his  specialty. 
We  did  our  blamedest  to  behave,  but  you  can't  break 
off  the  habits  of  generations  in  a  week  or  two.  Soon 
after  the  Seniors  got  out  the  Mock  Turtles,  a  Sopho 
more  society,  capacity  thirty  thousand  quarts,  absent- 
mindedly  tipped  over  a  street  car  on  their  way  home 
and  were  jugged  for  thirty  days.  They  had  to  enlarge 
the  workhouse  to  take  care  of  them,  and  four  of  our 
best  football  players  were  retired  from  circulation  all 
through  October.  Think  what  that  meant!  The 
whole  college  went  up,  just  before  the  game  with 
Hambletonian,  and  knelt  on  the  sidewalk  before  Judge 
Scroggs'  house.  He  set  the  dog  on  us.  Said  after 
wards  he  wished  the  dog  had  been  larger  and  had  n't 
had  his  supper.  A  month  later  four  members  of  the 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  61 

glee  club  tried  to  do  our  favorite  stunt  of  putting 
the  horse  in  the  herdic  and  hauling  him  home,  and 
it  cost  them  twenty-nine  days  —  just  enough  to  break 
up  the  club.  The  whole  basket-ball  team  got  thirty 
days  because  they  took  the  bronze  statue  off  the 
fountain  in  the  public  square  one  night,  laid  him 
on  the  car  tracks  in  some  old  clothes,  and  had  the 
ambulance  force  trying  to  resuscitate  him.  Nobody 
had  ever  objected  to  this  little  joke  before,  but  it 
cost  us  the  state  championship  and  two  of  the  team 
left  school  when  they  got  out.  Said  they  'd  come  to 
Siwash  for  a  college  education,  not  for  a  course  of 
etymology  in  a  workhouse. 

It  was  terrible.  We  scarcely  dared  to  cut  out  our 
mufflers  enough  to  whistle  to  each  other  on  the  street. 
By  spring  we  were  desperate.  We  had  lost  the 
basket-ball  championship.  The  glee  club  was  ruined. 
Muggledorfer  had  bumped  us  in  football  —  that  was 
the  year  before  Ole  Skjarsen  came  to  school  —  and 
college  spirit  at  Siwash  had  been  gummed  up  until 
it  could  have  been  successfully  imitated  by  a  four- 
thousand-year-old  mummy.  Our  college  meetings  re 
sembled  the  overflow  from  a  funeral  around  the  front 
steps.  We  used  to  shut  down  all  the  windows,  say 
"  shsh  "  nine  times,  and  then  write  out  our  college 
yell  on  curl  papers  and  burn  the  papers.  You  could 
have  swapped  Siwash  off  for  a  correspondence  school 
without  noticing  any  difference  in  the  reverberations. 

That  was  Petey  Simmons'  first  year  in  college  —  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  a  Senior  prep.  I  Ve  told 


62  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

you  more  or  less  about  Petey  before.  He  was  the 
only  son  of  one  of  these  country  bankers  who  manage 
to  get  as  much  fun  out  of  a  half  million  as  a  New 
Yorker  could  out  of  a  whole  railroad.  Petey  was  a 
little  chap  who  had  always  had  what  he  wanted  and 
would  cheerfully  sit  up  all  night  thinking  up  new 
things  to  want.  He  was  n't  a  Freshman  yet,  but  he 
could  give  points  to  all  the  college  in  the  matter  of 
explosive  clothes  and  nifty  ways  of  being  expensive 
to  Dad.  He  could  n't  get  along  without  coat-cut 
underwear  long  before  we  had  heard  of  it,  and  you 
could  tell  by  looking  at  his  shoes  just  what  the  rest  of 
the  school  would  be  wearing  in  two  years.  That  was 
Petey  all  the  way  through.  He  was  first  and  Father 
Time  was  nowhere,  forty  miles  back  with  a  busted 
tire. 

Petey  took  to  college  life  like  a  kid  to  candy  and 
just  soaked  himself  in  college  spirit.  He  proposed 
his  sixty-five-dollar  banjo  for  membership  in  the  club 
and  went  in  with  it  of  course.  He  was  elected  yell- 
master  before  he  had  been  in  school  two  weeks,  and 
if  you  ever  want  to  know  how  much  noise  can  come 
out  of  a  comparatively  small  orifice  you  should  have 
seen  him  emitting  riot  and  pandemonium  in  the 
second  half  of  a  lively  football  game.  Naturally,  it 
worried  Petey  almost  to  death  to  see  the  dear  old 
Coll.  disintegrating  under  the  Scroggs  Inquisition, 
and  he  used  to  sit  around  the  frat  house  with  his 
head  on  his  hands  for  hours,  smoking  his  pipe,  which 
had  the  largest  bowl  in  school,  and  combing  his  con- 


§1 


1 

?. 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  63 

volutions  for  a  plan.  Then,  along  in  March,  he 
electrified  the  whole  school  by  taking  Martha  Scroggs 
to  the  college  promenade. 

Martha  was  old  Malachi's  daughter.  We  hadn't 
known  it,  but  she  had  been  in  school  all  that  year. 
She  was  a  quiet  girl  who  was  designed  like  a  tall 
problem  in  plane  geometry.  While  it  was  possible 
for  a  clock  to  run  in  the  same  room  with  her,  still 
she  was  not  what  you  might  call  a  picnic  to  look  at 
She  was  the  kind  of  girl  a  man  would  look  at  once 
and  then  go  off  and  admire  the  scenery,  even  if  it 
only  consisted  of  a  ninety-acre  cornfield  and  a  grain 
elevator.  Martha  was  only  about  eighteen,  and  I 
never  could  understand  how  she  got  on  to  the  styles 
of  thirty-six  years  ago  and  wore  them  as  fluently  as 
she  did. 

Naturally,  Martha  had  gotten  along  in  her  studies 
without  being  pestered  by  society  to  any  extent.  I 
sometimes  think  this  helped  old  Scroggs  to  hate  us. 
She  was  his  only  child,  and  he  had  taken  all  the 
affection  and  interest  that  most  people  distribute  over 
their  entire  acquaintanceship  and  concentrated  it  on 
her.  They  had  grown  up  together  since  she  became 
a  motherless  baby,  and  they  did  say  that  while  you 
could  bombard  the  old  man  with  gatling  guns  with 
out  jarring  his  opinions  he  would  lie  down,  jump 
through  a  hoop  or  play  dead  whenever  Martha  wanted 
him  to. 

Naturally  Martha  caused  some  mild  sensation  when 
she  appeared  at  the  biggest  social  spasm  of  the  college 


64  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

year,  with  her  sleeves  bulging  in  the  wrong  place, 
and  nothing  but  her  own  hair  on  her  head.  But  what 
caused  the  real  sensation  was  the  fact  that  Petey  had 
been  released  from  the  workhouse  the  day  before. 
Yes,  sir  —  just  turned  out  with  seven  more  days  to 
serve.  He  had  thrown  a  brick  at  a  Sophomore  who 
was  trying  to  catch  him  and  dye  his  hair  the  Sopho 
more  colors,  and  the  brick  had  annihilated  one 
of  the  city's  precious  thirty-seven-cent  street  lights. 
Petey  had  gone  to  the  works  for  ten  days,  leaving 
a  new  dress  suit  that  hadn't  been  dedicated  and  un 
limited  woe  among  the  girls,  for  he  was  a  Class  A 
fusser. 

Petey  was  non-committal  about  his  insanity.  He 
had  the  best  eye  for  beauty  in  the  college,  and  yet  he 
had  been  taking  Miss  Scroggs  around  to  church 
socials  and  town  affairs  for  two  months.  But  college 
boys  aren't  slow,  whatever  you  want  to  say  about 
them.  We  had  faith  in  Petey  and  we  backed  up 
his  game.  We  gave  Martha  the  time  of  her  young 
life  at  the  Prom.  —  pulled  off  three  imitation  rows 
over  her  program  —  and  then  we  turned  in  that  win 
ter  and  gave  her  a  good,  hot  rush  —  which  is  a 
technical  college  expression  for  keeping  a  girl  dated 
up  so  that  she  does  n't  have  time  to  wash  the  dishes 
at  home  once  a  month. 

I  must  say  that  it  was  n't  much  of  a  punishment, 
either,  when  we  got  acquainted  with  Martha.  She 
was  a  good  fellow  clear  through  and  had  a  smile  that 
illuminated  her  plain  face  like  a  torchlight  parade. 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  65 

Of  course,  after  you  get  out  of  school  you  learn  that 
beauty  is  only  skin  deep  and  seldom  affects  the  brain ; 
but  this  is  a  wonderful  discovery  for  a  college  boy  to 
make  when  there  are  so  many  raving  beauties  about 
him  that  he  has  to  take  a  nap  in  the  afternoon  in 
order  to  dream  about  all  of  them.  At  any  rate,  we 
took  Martha  to  everything  that  came  along,  one  of  us 
or  another,  and  before  a  month  we  didn't  have  to 
pretend  very  much  to  scrap  for  her  dances,  even  if 
you  did  have  to  lug  her  around  the  room  by  main 
strength  —  she  was  as  heavy  on  her  feet  as  a  motor- 
bus. 

April  came  and  the  first  baseball  game  with  it, 
and  Saunders,  our  pitcher,  managed  to  draw  a  thirty- 
day  sentence  for  stealing  a  steam  roller  one  noon  and 
racing  off  down  the  avenue  with  a  fat  cop  in  pursuit. 
•We  nearly  fell  dead  once  more  when  Saunders  came 
walking  into  chapel  three  days  later.  He  had  been 
released  by  Judge  Scroggs  with  a  warning  never  under 
any  circumstances  to  do  anything  of  any  sort  at  any 
time  any  more,  and  been  assured  that  he  was  nothing 
more  than  hangman's  meat.  But  he  had  been  re 
leased!  That  night  he  took  Martha  Scroggs  to  the 
Alfalfa  Belt  hop.  And  the  next  day  he  held  Muggle- 
dorfer  down  to  two  hits  and  no  runs,  with  Martha 
waving  hurrahs  at  him  from  a  tally-ho. 

We  wanted  to  elect  Petey  president  of  the  college, 
for  we  laid  the  whole  affair  to  him.  But  he  would  n't 
talk  at  all.  If  anything,  he  seemed  a  little  sore  about 
the  whole  thing.  Martha  didn't  loosen  up,  either. 


66  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

She  just  smiled  and  told  those  of  us  who  knew  her 
well  enough  to  ask  questions  that  Saunders  was  a 
lovely  boy  and  that  she  had  had  that  date  with  him 
for  ages  —  flies'  ages,  I  guess  she  meant,  for  Alice 
Marsters,  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  school,  stayed 
home  from  the  dance  after  announcing  that  she  was 
going  with  Saunders,  and  never  seemed  able  to  re 
member  him  by  sight  after  that. 

About  a  week  afterward  Maxwell,  the  college  ora 
tor,  a  very  solemn  member  of  the  Siwash  brain  trust, 
was  arrested  for  ever  so  little  a  thing.  I  believe  he  so 
far  forgot  himself  as  to  help  give  the  college  yell  on 
Main  Street  the  night  his  literary  society  won  a  debate, 
Anyway,  he  got  ten  days,  and  he  was  due  in  three  days 
to  orate  for  Siwash  against  the  whole  Northwest.  It 
was  the  biggest  event  of  the  school  year  —  the  oratori 
cal  contest.  We  'd  won  seven  of  them  —  more  than 
any  other  school  in  the  sixteen  states  —  and  we  stood 
a  good  show  with  Maxwell.  We  were  crazy  to  win. 
Of  course  nobody  ever  goes  to  the  contests;  but  we 
all  stay  up  all  night  to  hear  the  results,  and  when  we 
win,  which  we  do  once  every  other  college  generation, 
we  try  to  make  the  celebration  bigger  than  the  stories 
of  other  celebrations  that  have  been  handed  down. 
We  'd  been  planning  this  celebration  all  winter  and 
had  everything  combustible  in  Jonesville  spotted. 

Some  of  us  were  for  going  out  and  burning  up  the 
workhouse,  but  before  we  got  around  to  it  Maxwell 
appeared.  It  was  the  day  before  the  contest.  He  'd 
served  only  two  days,  but  instead  of  rushing  right  off 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  67 

to  rehearse  his  oration,  which  he  could  n't  do  in  the 
workhouse,  owning  to  an  accountable  prejudice  the 
tramps  and  other  prisoners  had  against  oratory,  he 
took  the  evening  off  and  went  driving  with  Martha 
Scroggs  —  about  as  queer  a  thing  for  him  to  do  as  it 
would  be  for  the  Pope  to  take  a  young  lady  to  the 
theater.  But  we  didn't  ask  any  questions.  We 
cheered  him  off  on  the  midnight  train,  and  the  next 
night,  when  he  won  and  we  got  the  news,  we  turned 
out  and  built  a  bonfire  of  everything  that  was  n't 
nailed  down.  And  when  the  police  got  done  chasing 
us  they  had  nineteen  of  the  brightest  and  best  sons  of 
Siwash  bottled  up  in  the  booby  hatch. 

We  did  n't  mind  that  on  general  principles.  The 
bonfire  was  worth  it,  especially  since  we  managed  to 
get  a  few  palings  from  old  Scroggs'  fence  for  it  — 
but,  as  usual,  the  wrong  men  got  pinched.  There 
was  the  intercollegiate  track  meet  due  in  two  weeks, 
and  there,  in  the  list  of  felons,  were  Evans,  our 
crack  sprinter,  Petersen,  our  hammer  heaver,  and 
yours  truly,  who  could  pole  vault  about  as  high  as 
they  run  elevators  in  Europe,  even  if  he  was  only  a 
sub-Freshman  with  field  mice  in  his  hair. 

Now,  this  was  really  serious.  We  could  afford  to 
lose  an  oratorical  contest  —  it  just  meant  no  bonfire 
for  another  year  —  but  we  had  our  hearts  set  on  that 
track  meet.  We  were  up  against  our  lifelong  rivals 

—  Muggledorfer,  the  State  Normal,  Kiowa,  Ham- 
bletonian,  and  all  the  rest  of  them.     We  had  to  win 

—  I  don't  know  why.     Beats  all  how  many  things 


68  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

you  have  to  do  in  college  that  don't  seem  so  absolutely 
necessary  a  few  years  afterward.  Anyhow,  if  we 
three  point-gobblers  had  to  spend  the  next  ten  days 
in  the  works  instead  of  rounding  into  form,  the  points 
Siwash  would  win  in  that  meet  could  be  added  up 
by  a  three-year-old  boy  who  was  a  bad  scholar.  It 
was  so  desperate  that  we  hired  a  lawyer  and  laid  the 
case  before  him  that  night  as  we  sat  in  our  horrid 
cells  —  they  would  n't  take  Hinckley  for  bail  any 
more. 

"  Get  a  continuance,"  said  he.  And  the  nexJt 
morning  he  appeared  with  us  before  the  awful 
presence  and  demanded  the  continuance  on  the  score 
of  important  evidence,  lack  of  time  to  perfect  a 
defense,  other  engagements,  poor  crops,  Presidential 
election,  and  goodness  knows  what  —  regular  lawyer 
style,  you  know. 

Old  Scroggs  glared  at  us  the  way  an  unusually 
hungry  tiger  might  look  at  a  lamb  that  was  being 
taken  away  to  get  a  little  riper.  "  I  cannot  object 
to  a  reasonable  continuance,"  he  said  sourly.  "  And 
I  don't  deny  that  you  will  need  all  the  defense  you 
can  get.  The  case  is  an  atrocious  one,  and  I  propose 
to  do  my  small  part  toward  putting  down  arson  and 
riot  in  this  unhappy  town.  You  will  appear  two 
weeks  from  this  morning." 

The  field  meet  was  two  weeks  from  that  afternoon ! 
And  we  did  n't  have  a  ghost  of  a  defense ! 

We  three  scraped  up  the  required  bail  and  went 
back  to  college  feeling  cheerful  as  a  man  who  has 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  69 

been  told  that  his  hanging  has  been  postponed  until 
his  wedding  morning.  Of  course  we  sent  for  Petey 
Simmons.  He  arrived  dejected.  "  No  use,  fellows," 
he  remarked  as  he  came  in  the  door.  "  I  know  what 
you  all  want.  You  all  want  engagements  with 
Martha  Scroggs.  It 's  no  go.  I  've  been  over  to  see 
her  and  she  's  afraid  to  tackle  it.  The  old  man  's  told 
her  that  if  she  runs  around  with  any  more  of  this  dis 
graceful,  disgusting  and  nine  other  epitheted  college 
bunch  he'll  show  her  the  door.  Says  he 's  been 
worked  and  he  's  through.  Says  he  's  going  to  give 
you  the  limit  and,  if  possible,  he  's  going  to  give 
you  enough  to  keep  you  in  all  vacation  instead  of 
letting  you  loose  on  a  defenseless  world  all  summer. 
That 's  how  strong  you  are  up  at  the  Scroggs  house." 
There  you  were !  Siwash  College,  the  pride  of  six 
decades,  mollycoddled  by  an  old  parody  on  a  gorilla 
with  a  grouch  against  the  solar  system !  We  trained 
these  two  weeks  in  hopes  that  a  chariot  of  fire  would 
come  up  and  take  the  old  man  down,  but  there  was 
nothing  doing.  He  remained  abnormally  healthy 
and  supernaturally  mad.  On  the  morning  before  the 
fatal  day  we  all  wrote  letters  home,  explaining  that 
we  had  secured  elegant  jobs  in  various  emporiums 
over  the  city  and  would  n't  be  home  until  late  in 
the  summer.  Then  we  shivered  a  shake  or  two  apiece 
and  got  ready  to  retire  from  this  vain  world  for 
somewhere  between  thirty  and  ninety  days.  Just 
about  that  time  Petey  Simmons  blew  down  to  the 
college,  bursting  with  information.  He  demanded  a 


70  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

meeting  of  the  Athletic  Council  at  once  and  of  us 
three  sterling  athletes  as  well.  We  were  all  in  order 
in  ten  minutes. 

"  Fellows,  it 's  this  way,"  said  Petey.  "  Martha 
Scroggs  is  very  loyal  to  the  college,  as  you  all  know. 
She  has  done  her  very  best  with  old  Fireworks,  but 
it  has  n't  made  a  dent  in  him.  No  little  old  party  or 
buggy  ride  is  going  to  get  any  one  out  this  time. 
There  's  just  one  chance,  she  says,  and  she  's  taken  it. 
This  morning  she  confessed  to  her  father  that  she  is 
engaged  to  one  of  the  men  who  is  to  come  up  for  trial 
to-morrow  morning.  They  think  the  old  man  will  be 
well  enough  to  unmuzzle  before  noon,  but  he  's  been 
acting  like  a  bad  case  of  dog-days  all  morning.  He  's 
given  her  twenty-four  hours  to  name  the  man  —  and 
Martha  thinks  that  by  night  he  '11  be  resting  comfort 
ably  enough  to  promise  to  let  him  off  to-morrow. 
And  she  has  given  us  the  privilege  of  choosing  the 
man  she  's  engaged  to.  Now,  it 's  up  to  this  council 
to  pick  out  the  lucky  chap.  It 's  our  only  hope,  fel 
lows.  We  '11  have  one  point- winner  anyway  —  unless 
the  old  man  eats  him  alive  to-morrow." 

Evans  and  Petersen  turned  pale  —  they  had  real 
fiancees  in  college.  But  each  stepped  forward  nobly 
and  offered  himself  for  the  sacrifice.  I  stepped  out, 
too,  though  I  was  so  young  at  that  time  that  I  did  n't 
know  any  more  how  to  go  about  being  engaged  to  a 
girl  than  I  did  about  my  Greek  lessons.  Then  the 
council  began  to  discuss  the  choice.  And  just  there 
the  trouble  began. 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  71 

It  all  came  about  through  the  frats,  of  course. 
Frats  are  a  good  thing  all  right,  but  they  stir  up  more 
trouble  in  a  college  than  a  Turk's  nine  wives  can 
make  for  him.  Ashcroft  was  president  of  the  coun 
cil.  He  was  an  Alfalfa  Belt.  So  was  Evans.  Ash- 
croft  hung  out  for  Evans  like  a  bulldog  hanging  to  a 
tramp.  Beeman,  a  council  member,  was  a  Sigh 
Whoop  and  so  was  Petersen.  Beeman  argued  that 
Petersen  could  win  more  points  than  the  rest  of  the 
school  put  together  and  that  it  would  be  unpatriotic, 
unmanly,  disgraceful  and  un-Siwash-like  not  to 
select  him.  Bailey,  the  third  member,  was  an  Eta 
Bita  Pie,  and  while  sub-Freshmen  are  not  supposed 
to  be  anything  with  Greek  letters  on,  we  understood 
each  other,  and  I  was  to  be  initiated  the  next  fall. 
Bailey  pointed  out  caustically  that  to  imprison  a  sub- 
Freshman  would  be  to  ruin  his  reputation,  break  his 
spirit  and  disgrace  the  school  —  that  one  world's 
record  was  worth  fifty  points,  and  that,  if  allowed  to, 
I  would  pole-vault  so  high  the  next  day  that  I  would 
have  to  come  down  in  a  parachute.  The  result  was 
the  council  broke  up  in  one  big  row  and  Martha 
Scroggs  spent  the  afternoon  unengaged. 

About  five  o  'clock  Bailey  came  over  to  the  track, 
where  we  were  going  through  the  last  sad  rites,  and 
hauled  me  aside. 

"  Take  off  those  togs,  kid,"  he  said.  "  I  Ve  got  a 
stunt.  These  yaps  are  going  to  hold  another  meeting 
to-night  to  decide  on  Martha  Scroggs'  fiancee.  In  the 
meantime  you  're  going  out  to  ask  the  old  man  for 


72  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

her.  Understand  ?  You  're  going  to  ask  him  and 
take  what  he  gives  you  like  a  little  man  and  beg  off 
for  to-day,  and  then  you  're  going  to  break  the  pole- 
vault  record.  See  ?  " 

Unfortunately,  I  did.  I  liked  the  job  just  as  well 
as  I  would  like  getting  boiled  in  oil.  But  one  must 
stand  by  one's  f rat,  you  know  —  Gee,  how  proud  I 
felt  when  I  said  that !  I  did  n't  have  any  idea  how  an 
engaged  man  ought  to  look  or  act,  but  I  went  home, 
put  on  the  happiest  duds  I  had,  and  shinned  up  the 
street  about  eight  o'clock. 

The  man-eating  dog  of  the  Scroggses  was  some 
where  else,  gorging  himself  on  another  unfortunate, 
and  I  got  to  the  front  door  all  right.  I  rang  the  bell. 
Some  one  opened  the  door.  It  was  Judge  Scroggs. 
He  looked  at  me  as  one  might  look  at  a  bug  which 
had  wandered  on  to  the  table  and  was  trying  to  climb 
over  a  fork. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said,  "  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

Did  you  ever  have  your  voice  slink  around  behind 
your  larynx  and  refuse  to  come  out?  Mine  did.  I 
only  wish  I  could  have  slunk  with  it  I  started  talk 
ing  twice.  My  tongue  went  all  right,  but  I  could  n't 
slip  in  the  clutch  and  make  any  sound. 

"  Well,"  roared  Scroggs,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

That  jarred  me  loose.  "  Mr.  Scroggs,"  I  sput 
tered,  "  I  am  engaged  to  your  daughter.  I  want  to 
marry  her.  I  want  your  permission.  I  —  I  '11  be 
good  to  her,  sir." 

He  glared  at  me  for  a  minute.     "  Oh !  "  he  said 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  73 

with  a  queer  look.  "  Well,  come  on  in  with  the  rest 
of  them.  " 

I  followed  him  into  the  parlor.  There  sat  Evans 
and  Petersen.  They  were  older  than  I,  but  if  I 
looked  as  scared  as  they  did  I  wish  somebody  had  shot 
me.  In  the  corner  was  another  student.  His  name 
was  Driggs.  His  specialty  was  cotillons. 

We  four  sat  and  looked  at  each  other  with  awful 
suspicions.  Something  was  excessively  wrong.  I 
felt  indignant.  Can't  a  fellow  go  to  see  his  fiancee 
without  being  annoyed  by  a  Koman  mob  ?  I  noticed 
Petersen  and  Evans  looked  indignant,  too.  We  took 
it  out  by  staring  Driggs  almost  into  the  collywobbles. 
Who  was  he  anyway,  and  why  was  he  billy-goating 
around  ? 

Old  Scroggs  had  called  Martha.  He  sat  and  looked 
at  us  so  peculiarly  that  I  got  gooseflesh  all  over. 
Here  I  was,  a  Freshman  so  green  that  the  cows  looked 
longingly  at  me,  and  up  against  the  job  of  saving  the 
college,  winning  out  for  the  frat  and  becoming  en 
gaged  to  a  girl  I  did  n't  know  before  a  whole  roomful 
of  rivals.  I  was  n't  up  to  the  job.  If  only  I  had 
gone  to  the  works!  They  seemed  a  haven  of  sweet 
peace  just  then. 

Martha  Scroggs  came  into  the  room.  She  looked 
at  the  quartet.  We  looked  at  her  with  hunted  looks. 
Scroggs  looked  at  all  of  us. 

"  Martha,"  he  said  at  last,  "  each  one  of  these  four 
young  idiots  says  he  is  engaged  to  you.  Which  of 
them  shall  I  throw  out  ? " 


74  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

The  jig  was  up !  The  college  was  ruined !  Each 
one  of  us  had  the  same  bright  thought! 

For  a  moment  I  thought  Martha  was  going  to  faint. 
She  looked  at  the  mob  with  a  dazed  expression. 
You  could  almost  see  her  brain  grabbing  for  some  ex 
planation.  It  was  just  for  a  moment,  though.  My, 
but  that  girl  was  a  wonder!  She  gulped  once  or 
twice.  Then  she  smiled  in  an  inspired  sort  of  way. 

"  None  of  them,  Papa,"  she  said  ever  so  sweetly. 
"  I  am  engaged  to  all  of  them." 

The  eruption  of  Vesuvius  was  only  a  little  sputter 
to  what  followed.  For  a  moment  we  had  hopes  that 
old  Scroggs  would  explode.  I  think  if  he  had  had  us 
there  alone  he  would  have  tried  to  hang  us.  But 
every  tyrant  has  his  master,  so  before  long  we  began 
to  see  the  halter  on  old  Scroggs.  And  his  daughter 
held  the  leading  rope.  She  let  him  rave  about  so 
long  and  then  she  retired  into  her  pocket-handker 
chief  and  turned  on  a  regular  equinoctial.  Scroggs 
looked  more  uncomfortable  than  we  felt.  He  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  there  was  a  family  reconciliation. 
Every  little  while  Martha  would  look  over  his  shoul 
der  at  us  four  hopefuls  sitting  up  against  the  wall  as 
lively  as  wooden  Indians,  and  then  she  would  bury 
her  face  in  her  handkerchief  again  and  shake  her 
shoulders  and  writhe  with  grief  —  or  maybe  it  was 
something  else.  Martha  always  did  have  a  pretty 
keen  sense  of  humor. 

Suddenly  Scroggs  remembered  us  and  we  went  out 
of  the  house  like  projectiles  fired  from  a  very  loud 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  75 

gun.  We  cussed  each  other  all  the  way  home  —  we 
three  athletes.  We  would  have  cussed  Driggs,  but  he 
sneaked  the  other  way  and  we  lost  him. 

The  next  morning  we  went  up  to  police  court  in  our 
old  clothes.  Judge  Scroggs  looked  at  us  sourly  when 
our  turn  came. 

"  Young  men,"  he  said,  "  my  daughter  has  ad 
mitted  that  she  has  been  foolish  enough  to  engage 
herself  provisionally  to  all  of  you,  with  the  idea  of 
choosing  the  hero  in  this  afternoon's  games.  I  do  not 
admire  her  taste.  I  think  she  is  indeed  reckless  to 
fall  in  love  with  collegians  when  there  are  so  many 
honest  cab  drivers  and  grocery  boys  to  choose  from. 
But  I  have,  in  the  interests  of  peace,  consented  to 
allow  you  to  compete  this  afternoon.  You  are  dis 
charged.  I  do  this  the  more  willingly  because  I 
have  seen  you  here  before  and  shall  again.  You 
may  go." 

We  did  go,  and  when  we  got  through  that  afternoon 
the  knobby-legged  athletes  from  our  rival  schools 
looked  like  quarter  horses  plowing  home  just  ahead 
of  the  next  race.  Siwash  won  by  an  enormous  lead 
and  we  three  were  the  stars  of  the  meet.  Why 
should  n't  we  be  when  our  fiancee  sat  in  a  box  in  the 
grandstand  and  cheered  us  impartially?  More  than 
that,  old  Scroggs  sat  with  her  and  I  have  an  idea 
that  he  got  excited,  too,  in  the  breath-catching  parts. 

I  think  that  engagement  business  must  have  broken 
the  old  man's  spirit,  or  else  so  much  association  with 
college  people  began  to  waken  dormant  brain  cells  in 


76  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

his  head.  The  rest  of  the  rioters  got  out  of  the  work 
house  right  away,  and  that  fall  he  retired  from  the 
bench,  declaring  that  if  he  was  to  have  a  college 
student  for  a  son-in-law,  as  looked  extremely  likely, 
he  needed  to  put  in  all  of  his  time  at  home  protecting 
his  property.  In  honor  of  his  retirement  we  had  a 
pa  jama  parade  which  was  nine  blocks  long  and  forty- 
two  blocks  loud,  and  a  platoon  of  six  policemen  led 
the  way. 

Of  course  that  engagement  business  left  all  sorts  of 
complications.  Scroggs  pestered  his  daughter  for 
about  a  month  to  make  her  decision.  He  seemed 
somewhat  relieved  when  she  finally  announced  that 
she  couldn't;  but  it  wasn't  much  relief,  after  all, 
for  by  this  time  he  couldn't  walk  around  his  own 
house  without  falling  over  Petey  Simmons.  Just  two 
years  ago  I  got  cards  to  Petey's  wedding.  He  and 
Martha  are  living  in  Chicago  in  one  of  those  flats 
where  you  have  seven  hundred  and  eighty-nine  dol 
lars'  worth  of  bath-room,  and  eighty-nine  cents'  worth 
of  living  room,  and  which  you  have  to  lease  by  meas 
ure  just  as  you  would  buy  a  vest  If  Petey  hangs  on 
long  enough  he  is  going  to  be  a  big  man  in  the  bank 
ing  business,  too. 

I  forgot  to  clear  up  this  Driggs  mystery.  The 
evening  after  the  races,  Martha  called  up  Petey 
Simmons.  "  Petey,"  said  she,  "  I  wish  you  would 
tell  me  who  this  fourth  man  is  that  I  'm  engaged  to. 
He  does  n't  seem  to  be  on  the  track  team  and  I  did  n't 
catch  his  name.  I  don't  mind  having  to  make  up  an 


When  Greek  Meets  Grouch  77 

excuse  for  being  engaged  to  four  men  right  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  if  it  is  necessary,  but  I  'd  at 
least  like  to  know  their  names." 

Petey  was  as  puzzled  as  she  was  and  lit  out  to 
find  Driggs.  He  was  gone,  but  the  next  day  he  turned 
up  and  confessed  all.  He  had  a  terrible  affair  with 
a  girl  in  the  next  town,  it  seems,  and  had  a  date 
to  bring  her  to  the  games.  He  was  one  of  the  nine 
teen  criminals,  and  was  so  terror-stricken  at  the  idea 
of  being  compelled  to  desert  his  hypnotizer  that  when 
the  news  of  the  engagement  business  leaked  out  he 
took  a  long  chance  and  went  up  and  announced  him 
self.  It  worked,  but  we  caught  him  two  nights  later 
and  shaved  his  hair  on  one  side  as  a  gentle  warning 
not  to  do  it  again. 


CHAPTEK   IV 

A    FUNEBAL     THAT     FLASHED     IN     THE     PAN 

HONEST,  Bill,  sometimes  when  I  sit  down  in 
these  sober,  plug-away  days  —  when  we  are 
kind  to  the  poor  dumb  policemen  and  don't  dare  wear 
straw  hats  after  the  first  of  September  —  and  think 
about  the  good  old  college  times,  I  wonder  how  we 
ever  had  the  nerve  to  imitate  insanity  the  way  we  did. 
Here  I  am,  rubbing  noses  with  thirty,  outgrowing  my 
belts  every  year,  and  sitting  eight  hours  at  a  desk 
without  exploding.  Am  I  the  chap  who  climbed  up 
sixty  feet  of  waterspout  a  few  short  years  ago  and 
persuaded  the  clapper  of  the  college  bell  to  come  down 
with  me  ?  Here  you  are  all  worn  smooth  on  top  and 
proprietor  of  an  overflow  meeting  in  a  nursery.  In 
about  ten  minutes  you  '11  be  tearing  your  coat-tails 
out  of  my  hands  because  you  have  to  go  back  home 
before  the  eldest  kid  asks  for  a  story.  Are  you  the 
loafer  who  spent  all  one  night  getting  a  profane  par 
rot  into  the  cold-air  pipes  of  the  college  chapel? 
Maybe  you  think  you  are,  but  I  don't  believe  it.  If 
I  were  to  tip  this  table  over  on  you  now  you  'd  get 
mad  and  go  home  instead  of  handing  me  a  volume 
of  George  Barr  McCutcheon  in  the  watch-pocket 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan    79 

You  're  not  the  good  old  lunatic  you  used  to  be,  and 
neither  am  I. 

Yes,  times  have  changed.  I  don't  feel  as  unfettered 
as  I  used  to.  There  are  a  few  things  nowadays  that 
I  don't  care  to  do.  When  I  come  home  at  night  I 
take  my  shoes  off  and  tiptoe  to  my  room  instead  of 
standing  outside  and  trying  to  persuade  my  landlady 
that  the  house  is  on  fire.  When  I  visit  a  friend  in 
his  apartments  I  do  not,  as  a  bit  of  repartee,  throw 
all  of  his  clothes  out  of  the  window  while  he  is  out 
of  the  room,  and  it  has  been  a  long  time  since  I  last 
hung  a  basket  out  of  my  window  on  Saturday  night, 
expecting  some  early-rising  friend  to  put  a  pocketful 
of  breakfast  in  it  as  he  came  past  from  boarding-club. 
I  am  a  slave  to  conventions  and  so  are  you,  you  slant- 
shouldered,  hollow-chested,  four-eyed,  flabby-spirited 
pill-roller,  you !  The  city  makes  more  mummies  out 
of  live  ones  than  old  Rameses  ever  did  out  of  his 
obituary  crop. 

And  yet  it's  no  time  at  all  since  you  and  I  were 
back  at  Siwash  College,  making  a  dear  playmate  out 
of  trouble  from  morning  till  night.  I  wonder  what 
it  is  in  college  that  makes  a  fellow  want  to  stick  his 
finger  into  conventions  and  customs  and  manners,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  revised  statutes,  and  stir  the  whole 
mess  'round  and  'round !  When  you  're  in  college, 
college  life  seems  big  and  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
•so  small  that  what  you  want  to  do  as  a  student  seems 
to  be  the  only  important  thing  in  life  —  no  matter  if 
what  you  want  to  do  is  only  to  put  a  free-lunch  sign 


80  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

over  the  First  Methodist  Church.  What  does  the  col 
lege  student  care  for  the  U.  S.  A.,  the  planet  or  the 
solar  system  ?  Why,  at  Siwash,  I  remember  the  big 
gest  man  in  the  world  was  Ole  Skjarsen.  Next  to 
him  was  Coach  Bost,  then  Rogers,  captain  of  the 
football  team,  and  then  Jensen,  the  quarter.  After 
him  came  Frankling,  of  the  Alfalfa  Belts,  whose  father 
picked  up  bargains  in  railroads  instead  of  gloves; 
then  came  Prexy,  and  after  him  the  President  of  the 
United  States  and  a  few  scattered  celebrities,  tailing 
down  to  the  Mayor  of  Jonesville  and  its  leading  citi 
zens  —  mere  nobodies. 

That's  how  important  the  outside  world  seemed 
to  us.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  when  we  wanted  to  go 
downtown  in  pajamas  and  plug  hats  we  paddled  right 
along  ?  Or  that  when  we  wanted  to  steal  a  couple  of 
actors  and  tie  them  in  a  barn,  while  two  of  us  took 
their  places,  we  did  not  hesitate  to  do  so?  We  felt 
perfectly  free  to  do  just  what  we  pleased.  The  col 
lege  understood  us,  and  what  the  world  thought  never 
entered  our  heads. 

Those  were  certainly  nightmarish  times  for  the 
Faculty  of  a  small  but  husky  college  filled  with  live 
wires  who  specialized  in  applied  mischief.  It  beats 
all  what  peculiar  things  college  students  can  do  and 
not  think  anything  of  it  at  all ;  and  it 's  funny  how 
closely  wisdom  and  blame  foolishness  seem  to  be  re 
lated.  I  remember  after  I  had  spent  two  hours  put 
ting  my  Polykon  down  on  a  concrete  foundation  so 
that  I  could  recite  John  Stuart  Mill  by  the  ream,  it 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan    81 

seemed  as  if  I  couldn't  live  half  an  hour  longer 
without  a  certain  kind  of  pie  that  was  kept  in  cap 
tivity  a  mile  awaj  downtown  at  a  lunch-counter. 
And,  moreover,  I  could  n't  eat  that  pie  alone.  A  col 
lege  student  does  n't  know  how  to  masticate  without 
an  assistant  or  two.  When  I  think  of  the  hours  and 
hours  I  have  spent  traveling  around  at  midnight  and 
battering  on  the  doors  of  perfectly  respectable  houses, 
trying  to  drag  some  student  out  and  take  him  a  mile 
or  two  away  downtown  after  pie,  I  am  struck  with 
awe.  When  I  came  to  this  town  I  walked  two  days 
for  a  job  and  then  sat  around  with  my  feet  on  a  sofa 
cushion  for  three  days.  I  '11  bet  I  've  walked  twice 
as  far  hunting  up  some  devoted  friend  to  help  me 
go  downtown  and  eat  a  piece  of  pie.  And  that  pie 
seemed  three  times  as  important  as  the  easy  lessons 
for  beginners  in  running  the  earth  that  I  had  been 
absorbing  all  the  evening. 

You  need  n't  grin,  Bill.  You  were  just  as  bad.  I 
remember  you  were  the  biggest  math,  shark  in  college. 
You  could  do  calculus  problems  that  took  all  the 
English  letters  from  A  to  Z  and  then  slopped  over  into 
the  Greek  alphabet ;  and  everybody  predicted  that  you 
would  be  a  great  man  if  anybody  ever  found  any  use 
for  calculus.  And  yet  the  chief  ambition  of  your  life 
was  to  find  a  way  of  tampering  with  the  college  clock 
so  that  it  would  run  twice  as  fast  as  its  schedule. 
You  used  to  sit  around  and  figure  all  evening  over 
it  and  declare  that  if  you  could  only  do  it  once  and 
watch  the  Profs,  letting  out  classes  early  and  going 


82  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

home  to  supper  at  one  P.  M.  you  would  consider  your 
life  well  spent  Sounds  fiddling  now,  doesn't  it? 
But  I  admired  you  for  it  then.  I  really  looked  up 
to  you,  Bill,  as  a  man  with  a  firm,  fixed  purpose, 
while  I  was  just  a  trifler  who  would  be  satisfied  to 
steal  the  hands  of  the  clock  or  jolly  it  into  striking 
two  hundred  times  in  a  row. 

There  was  Rearick,  for  instance.  He  was  the 
smartest  man  in  our  class.  Took  scholarship  prizes 
as  carelessly  as  a  policeman  takes  peanuts  from  a 
Dago  stand.  Since  then  he  's  gone  up  so  fast  that 
every  time  I  see  him  I  insult  him  by  congratulating 
him  on  getting  the  place  he's  just  been  promoted  from. 
But  what  was  Rearick's  hobby  at  Siwash  ?  Stealing 
hatpins.  He  had  four  hundred  hatpins  when  he 
graduated,  and  he  never  could  see  anything  wrong  in 
it.  Guess  he  's  got  them  yet.  Perkins  is  in  Congress 
already.  He  out-debated  the  whole  Northwest  and 
wrote  pieces  on  subjects  so  heavy  that  you  could 
break  up  coal  with  them.  But  I  never  saw  him  so 
earnest  in  debate  as  he  was  the  night  he  talked  old 
Bill  Morrison  into  letting  him  drive  his  hack  for 
him  all  evening.  He  told  me  he  had  driven  every 
hack  in  town  but  Bill's,  and  that  Bill  had  baffled 
him  for  two  years.  It  cost  him  four  dollars  to  turn 
the  trick,  but  he  was  happier  after  it  than  he  was 
when  he  won  the  Siwash-Muggledorfer  debate.  Said 
he  was  ready  to  graduate  now  —  college  held  nothing 
further  for  him.  Perkins'  brains  were  n't  addled, 
because  he  has  been  working  them  double  shift  ever 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan    83 

since.  He  just  had  the  college  microbe,  that 's  all. 
It  gets  into  your  gray  matter  and  makes  you  enjoy 
things  turned  inside  out.  You  remember  "  Prince  " 
Hogboom's  funeral,  don't  you  ? 

What  year  was  it  ?  Why,  ninety-ump-teen.  What  ? 
That 's  right,  you  got  out  the  year  before.  I  re 
member  they  held  your  diploma  until  you  paid  for 
the  library  cornerstone  that  your  class  stole  and  cut 
up  into  paper-weights.  Well,  by  not  staying  the 
next  year  you  missed  the  most  unsuccessful  funeral 
that  was  ever  held  in  the  history  of  Siwash  or  any 
where  else.  It  was  one  of  the  very  few  funerals 
on  record  in  which  the  corpse  succeeded  in  licking 
the  mourners.  I  Jve  got  a  small  scar  from  it  now. 
You  may  think  you  're  going  home  to  that  valuable 
baby  of  yours,  but  you  are  not.  You  '11  hear  me  out. 
I  have  n't  talked  with  a  Siwash  man  for  a  month,  and 
all  of  these  Hale  and  Jarhard  and  Stencilmania  fel 
lows  give  me  an  ashy  taste  in  my  mouth  when  I  talk 
with  them.  It 's  about  as  much  fun  talking  college 
days  with  a  fellow  from,  another  school  as  it  is  to 
talk  ranching  with  a  New  England  old  maid;  and 
when  I  get  hold  of  a  Siwash  man  you  can  bet  I 
hang  on  to  him  as  long  as  my  talons  will  stick. 
You  just  sit  right  there  and  start  another  Wheeling 
conflagration  while  I  tell  you  how  we  killed  Hogboom 
to  make  a  Siwash  holiday. 

•  I  helped  kill  him  myself.  It  was  my  first  murder. 
It  was  an  awful  thing  to  do,  but  we  were  desperate 
men.  It  was  spring  —  in  May  —  and  not  one  of  us 


84  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

had  a  cut  left  You  know  how  unimportant  your  cuts 
are  in  the  fall  when  you  know  that  you  can  skip 
classes  ten  times  that  year  without  getting  called 
up  on  the  green  carpet  and  gimleted  by  the 
Faculty.  Ten  cuts  seem  an  awful  lot  when  you  begin. 
You  throw  'em  away  for  anything.  You  cut  class  to 
go  downtown  and  buy  a  cigarette.  You  cut  class  to 
see  a  dog  fight.  I  've  even  known  a  fellow  to  cut  a 
class  in  the  fall  because  he  had  to  go  back  to  the 
room  and  put  on  a  clean  collar.  But,  oh,  how  different 
it  is  in  May,  when  you  have  n't  a  cut  left  to  your 
name  and  the  Faculty  has  been  holding  meetings  on 
you,  anyway;  when  classroom  is  a  jail  and  the 
campus  just  outside  the  window  is  a  paradise,  green 
and  sunshiny  and  fanned  by  warm  breezes  —  excuse 
these  poetries.  And  you  can  sit  in  your  class  in 
Evidences  of  Christianity  —  of  which  you  knew  as 
much  as  a  Chinese  laundryman  does  of  force-feed 
lubrication  —  and  look  out  of  the  window  and  see 
your  best  girl  sitting  on  the  grass  with  some  smug 
oyster  who  has  saved  up  his  cuts.  How  I  used  to 
hate  these  chaps  who  saved  up  their  cuts  till  spring 
and  then  took  my  girl  out  walking  while  I  went  to 
classes !  Is  there  anything  more  maddening,  I  'd  like 
to  know,  than  to  sit  before  a  big,  low  window  trying 
to  follow  a  psychology  recitation  closely  enough  to 
get  up  when  called  on,  and  at  the  same  time  watch 
five  girls,  with  all  of  whom  you  are  dead  in  love, 
strolling  slowly  off  into  the  bright  distance  with  five 
job-lot  male  beings  who  are  dull  and  uninteresting 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan     85 

and  just  cold-blooded  enough  to  save  their  cuts 
until  the  springtime  ?  If  there  is  I  've  never 
had  it. 

In  this  spring  of  umpty-steen  it  seemed  as  if  only 
one  ambition  in  the  world  was  worth  achieving  — 
that  was  to  get  out  of  classes.  Most  of  us  had  used 
up  our  cuts  long  ago.  The  Faculty  is  never  any  too 
patient  in  the  spring,  anyhow,  and  a  lot  of  us  were 
on  the  ragged  edge.  I  remember  feeling  very  confi 
dently  that  if  I  went  up  before  that  brain  trust  in 
the  Faculty  room  once  more  and  tried  to  explain  how 
it  was  that  I  was  giving  absent  treatment  to  my  be 
loved  studies,  said  Faculty  would  take  the  college 
away  from  me  and  wouldn't  let  me  play  with  it 
never  no  more.  And  that 's  an  awful  distressing  fear 
to  hang  over  a  man  who  loves  and  enjoys  everything 
connected  with  a  college  except  the  few  trifling  reci 
tations  which  take  up  his  time  and  interfere  with 
his  plans.  It  hung  over  five  of  us  who  were  trying 
to  plan  some  way  of  going  over  to  Hambletonian  Col 
lege  to  see  our  baseball  team  wear  deep  paths  around 
their  diamond.  We  were  certain  to  win,  and  as  the 
Hambletonians  hadn't  found  this  out  there  was  a 
legitimate  profit  to  be  made  from  our  knowledge  — 
profit  we  yearned  for  and  needed  frightfully.  I  won 
der  if  these  Wall  Street  financiers  and  Western  rail 
road  men  really  think  they  know  anything  about  hard 
•times?  Why,  I've  known  times  to  be  so  hard  in 
May  that  three  men  would  pool  all  their  available 
funds  and  then  toss  up  to  see  which  one  of  them 


86  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

would  eat  the  piece  of  pie  the  total  sum  bought 
I  've  known  Seniors  to  begin  selling  their  personal 
effects  in  April  —  a  pair  of  shoes  for  a  dime,  a  dress 
suit  for  five  dollars  —  and  to  go  home  in  June  with 
a  trunk  full  of  flags  and  dance  programs  and  nothing 
else.  I  Ve  known  students  to  buy  velveteen  pants  in 
the  spring  and  go  around  with  big  slouch  hats  and 
very  long  hair  —  not  because  they  were  really  artistic 
and  Bohemian,  but  because  it  was  easier  to  buy  the 
trousers  and  have  them  charged  than  it  was  to  find  a 
quarter  for  a  haircut 

That 's  how  busted  live  college  students  with  un- 
appreciative  dads  can  get  in  the  spring.  That 's  how 
busted  we  were ;  and  there  was  Hambletonian,  twenty 
miles  away,  full  of  money  and  misguided  faith  in 
their  team.  If  we  could  scrape  up  a  little  cash  we 
could  ride  over  on  our  bicycles  and  transfer  the  finan 
cial  stringency  to  the  other  college  with  no  trouble 
at  all.  But  it  was  a  midweek  game  and  not  one 
of  us  had  a  cut  left.  That  was  why  we  murdered 
Hogboom. 

It  happened  one  evening  when  we  were  sitting  on 
the  front  porch  of  the  Eta  Bita  Pie  house.  That  was 
the  least  expensive  thing  we  could  do.  We  had  been 
discussing  girls  and  baseball  and  spring  suits,  and 
the  comparative  excellence  of  the  wheat  cakes  at  the 
Union  Lunch  Counter  and  Jim's  place.  But  what 
ever  we  talked  about  ran  into  money  in  the  end  and 
we  had  to  change  the  subject.  There  's  mighty  little 
a  poor  man  can  talk  about  in  spring  in  college,  I  can 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan     87 

tell  you.  We  discussed  around  for  an  hour  or  two, 
bumping  into  the  dollar  mark  in  every  direction,  and 
finally  got  so  depressed  that  we  shut  up  and  sat 
around  with  our  heads  in  our  hands.  That  seemed 
to  be  about  the  only  thing  to  do  that  did  n't  require 
money. 

"  We  '11  have  to  do  something  desperate  to  get  to 
that  game,"  said  Hogboom  at  last.  Hogboom  was  a 
Senior.  He  ranked  "  sublime  "  in  football,  "  excel 
lent  "  in  baseball,  "  good  "  in  mandolin,  "  fair  "  in 
dancing,  and  from  there  down  in  Greek,  Latin  and 
Mathematics. 

"  Intelligent  boy,"  said  Bunk  Bailey  pleasantly ; 
"  tell  us  what  it  must  be.  Desperate  things  done  to 
order,  day  or  night,  with  care  and  thoroughness.  Trot 
out  your  desperate  thing  and  get  me  an  axe.  I  '11 
do  it." 

"Well,"  said  Hogboom,  "I  don't  know,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  if  one  of  us  was  to  die  maybe  the 
Faculty  would  take  a  day  off  and  we  could  go  over 
to  Hambletonian  without  getting  cuts." 

"  Fine  scheme ;  get  me  a  gun,  Hogboom."  "  Do 
you  prefer  drowning  or  lynching  ?  "  "  Kill  him 
quick,  somebody."  "  Look  pleasant,  please,  while  the 
operator  is  working."  "  What  do  you  charge  for 
dying  ?  "  Oh,  we  guyed  him  good  and  plenty,  which 
is  a  way  they  have  at  old  Harvard  and  middle-aged 
Siwash  and  Infant  South  Dakota  University  and 
wherever  two  students  are  gathered  together  any 
where  in  the  U.  S.  A. 


88  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Hogboom  only  grinned.  "  Prattle  away  all  you 
please,"  he  said,  "  but  I  mean  it.  I  've  got  magnifi 
cent  facilities  for  dying  just  now.  I  '11  consider  a 
proposition  to  die  for  the  benefit  of  the  cause  if  you 
fellows  will  agree  to  keep  me  in  cigarettes  and  pie 
while  I  'm  dead." 

"  Done,"  says  I,  "  and  in  embalming  fluid,  too. 
But  just  demonstrate  this  theorem,  Hoggy,  old  boy. 
How  extensively  are  you  going  to  die  ? " 

"  Just  enough  to  get  a  holiday,"  said  Hogboom. 
"  You  see,  I  happen  to  have  a  chum  in  the  telegraph 
office  in  Weeping  Water,  where  I  live.  Now  if  I 
were  to  go  home  to  spend  Sunday  and  you  fellows 
were  to  receive  a  telegram  that  I  had  been  kicked  to 
death  by  an  automobile,  would  you  have  sense  enough 
to  show  it  to  Prexy  ?  " 

"  We  would,"  we  remarked,  beginning  to  get  in 
telligent. 

"  And,  after  he  had  confirmed  the  sad  news  by 
telegram,  would  you  have  sense  enough  left  to  sug 
gest  that  college  dismiss  on  Tuesday  and  hold  a 
memorial  meeting  ? " 

"  We  would,"  we  chuckled. 

"  And  would  you  have  foresight  enough  to  suggest 
that  it  be  held  in  the  morning  so  that  you  could  rush 
away  to  Weeping  Water  in  the  afternoon  to  attend 
the  funeral  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  we  said,  so  mildly  that  the  cop  two 
blocks  away  strolled  down  to  see  what  was  up. 

"  And  then  would  you  be  diplomatic  enough  to  pro- 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan     89 

duce  a  telegram  saying  that  the  report  was  false,  just 
too  late  to  start  the  afternoon  classes  ? " 

"  You  bet !  "  we  whooped,  pounding  Hoghoom  with 
great  joy.  Then  we  sat  down  as  unconcernedly  as  if 
we  were  planning  to  go  to  the  vaudeville  the  next 
afternoon  and  arranged  the  details  of  Hogboom's 
assassination.  As  I  was  remarking,  positively  noth 
ing  looks  serious  to  a  college  boy  until  after  he  has 
done  it. 

That  was  on  Friday  night.  On  Saturday  we  killed 
Hogboom.  That  is,  he  killed  himself.  He  got  per 
mission  to  go  home  over  Sunday  and  retired  to  an 
upper  back  room  in  our  house,  very  unostentatiously. 
He  had  already  written  to  his  operator  chum,  who 
had  attended  college  just  long  enough  to  take  away 
his  respect  for  death,  the  integrity  of  the  telegraph 
service  and  practically  everything  else.  The  result 
was  that  at  nine  o'clock  that  evening  a  messenger  boy 
rang  our  bell  and  handed  in  a  telegram.  It  was 
brief  and  terrible.  Wilbur  Hogboom  had  been  sub 
merged  in  the  Weeping  Water  River  while  trying  to 
abduct  a  catfish  from  his  happy  home  and  had  only 
just  been  hauled  out  entirely  extinct. 

It  was  an  awful  shock  to  us.  We  had  expected  him 
to  be  shot.  We  read  it  solemnly  and  then  tiptoed  up 
to  Hogboom  with  it.  He  turned  pale  when  he  saw 
the  yellow  slip. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  hurriedly.  "  How  did  it 
happen  ? " 

"  You  were  drowned,  Hoggy,  old  boy,"  Wilkins 


90  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

said.  "  Drowned  in  your  little  old  Weeping  Water 
River.  They  have  got  you  now  and  you  're  all  damp 
and  drippy,  and  your  best  girl  is  having  one  hysteric 
after  another.  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  throw 
that  cigarette  away  and  show  some  respect  to  your 
self  ?  We've  all  quit  playing  cards  and  are  going 
to  bed  early  in  your  honor." 

"  Well,  I  'm  not,"  said  Hogboom.  "  It 's  the  first 
time  I  have  ever  been  dead,  and  I  'm  going  to  stay 
up  all  night  and  see  how  I  feel.  Another  thing,  I  'm 
going  down  and  telephone  the  news  to  Prexy  myself. 
I  've  had  nothing  but  hard  words  out  of  him  all  my 
college  course,  and  if  he  can't  think  up  something 
nice  to  say  on  an  occasion  like  this  I  'm  going  to  give 
him  up." 

Hogboom  called  up  Prexy  and  in  a  shaking  voice 
read  him  the  telegram.  We  sat  around,  choking  each 
other  to  preserve  the  peace,  and  listened  to  the  fol 
lowing  cross  section  of  a  dialogue  —  telephone  talk 
is  so  interesting  when  you  just  get  one  hemisphere 
of  it 

"  Hello !  That  you,  Doctor  ?  This  is  the  Eta  Bita 
Pie  House.  I  've  some  very  sad  news  to  tell  you. 
Hogboom  was  drowned  to-day  in  the  Weeping  Water 
River.  We  've  just  had  a  telegram  —  Yes,  quite 
dead  —  No  chance  of  a  mistake,  I  'm  afraid  —  Yes, 
they  recovered  him  —  We  're  all  broken  up  —  Oh, 
yes,  he  was  a  fine  fellow  —  We  loved  him  deeply  — 
I  'm  glad  you  thought  so  much  of  him  —  He  was 
always  so  frank  in  his  admiration  of  you  —  Yes,  he 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan     91 

was  honorable  —  Yes,  and  brilliant,  too  —  Of  course, 
we  valued  him  for  his  good  fellowship,  but,  as  you 
say,  he  was  also  an  earnest  boy  —  It 's  awful  —  Yes, 
a  fine  athlete  —  I  wish  he  could  hear  you  say  that, 
Doctor  —  !No,  I  'm  afraid  we  can't  fill  his  place  — 
Yes,  it  is  a  loss  to  the  college  —  I  guess  you  just  ad 
dress  telegram  to  his  folks  at  Weeping  Water  — 
That 's  how  we  're  sending  ours  —  Good-night  — 
Yes,  a  fine  fellow  —  Good-night." 

Hogboom  hung  up  the  'phone  and  went  upstairs, 
where  he  lay  for  an  hour  or  two  with  his  face  full 
of  pillows.  The  rest  of  us  were  n't  so  gay.  We  could 
see  the  humor  of  the  thing  all  right,  but  the  awful 
fact  that  we  were  murderers  was  beginning  to  hang 
over  our  heads.  It  was  easy  enough  to  kill  Hogboom, 
but  now  that  he  was  dead  the  future  looked  tolerably 
complicated.  Suppose  something  happened  ?  Suppose 
he  did  n't  stay  dead  ?  There  's  no  peace  for  a  mur 
derer,  anyway.  We  did  n't  sleep  much  that  night. 

The  next  day  it  was  worse.  We  sat  around  and 
entertained  callers  all  day.  Half  a  hundred  students 
called  and  brought  enough  woe  to  fit  out  a  Demo 
cratic  headquarters  on  Presidential  election  night. 
They  all  had  something  nice  to  say  of  Hoggy.  We 
sat  around  and  mourned  and  gloomed  and  agreed  with 
them  until  we  were  ready  to  yell  with  disgust. 

Hogboom  was  the  most  disgracefully  lively  corpse 
I  ever  saw.  He  insisted  on  sitting  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  where  he  could  hear  every  good  word  that 
was  said  of  him,  and  the  things  he  demanded  of  us 


92  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

during  the  day  would  have  driven  a  stone  saint  to 
crime.  Four  times  we  went  downtown  for  pie ;  three 
times  for  cigarettes;  once  for  all  the  Sunday  news 
papers,  and  once  for  ice  cream.  As  I  told  you,  it 
was  May,  the  time  of  the  year  when  street-car  fare 
is  a  problem  of  financial  magnitude.  We  had  to  bor 
row  money  from  the  cook  before  night.  Hoggy  had 
us  helpless,  and  he  was  taking  a  mean  and  contemp 
tible  advantage  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a  corpse.  Half 
a  dozen  times  we  were  on  the  verge  of  letting  him 
come  to  life.  It  would  have  served  him  right. 

Old  Siwash  was  just  naturally  submerged  in  sor 
row  when  Monday  morning  cajne.  The  campus 
dripped  with  sadness.  The  Faculty  oozed  regret  at 
every  pore.  We  loyal  friends  of  Hogboom  were  looked 
on  as  the  chief  mourners  and  it  was  up  to  us  to  fill 
the  part.  We  did  our  best.  We  talked  with  the  soft 
pedal  on.  We  went  without  cigarettes.  We  wiped 
our  eyes  whenever  we  got  an  audience.  Time  after 
time  we  told  the  sad  story  and  exhibited  the  telegram. 
By  noon  more  particulars  began  to  come  in.  Prexy 
got  an  answer  to  his  telegram  of  condolence.  The 
funeral,  the  telegram  said,  would  be  on  Tuesday 
afternoon.  There  was  great  and  universal  grief  in 
Weeping  Water,  where  Hogboom  had  been  held  in 
reverent  esteem.  Hoggy's  chum  in  the  telegraph  office 
simply  laid  himself  out  on  that  telegram.  Prexy  read 
it  to  me  himself  and  wiped  his  eyes  while  he  did  it. 
He  was  a  nice,  sympathetic  man,  Prexy  was,  when  he 
was  n't  discussing  cuts  or  scholarship. 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan     93 

Getting  the  memorial  meeting  was  so  easy  we  hated 
to  take  it.  The  Faculty  met  to  pass  resolutions  Mon 
day  afternoon,  and  when  our  delegation  arrived  they 
treated  us  like  brothers.  It  was  just  like  entering 
the  camp  of  the  enemy  under  a  flag  of  truce.  Many 
a  time  I  've  gone  in  on  that  same  carpet,  but  never 
with  such  a  feeling  of  holy  calm.  "  They  would, 
of  course,  hold  the  memorial  meeting,"  said  Prexy. 
They  had  in  fact  decided  on  this  already.  They 
would,  of  course,  dismiss  college  all  day.  It  was,  per 
haps,  best  to  hold  the  memorial  in  the  morning  if  so 
many  of  us  were  going  out  to  Weeping  Water.  It 
was  nice  so  many  of  us  could  go.  Prexy  was  going. 
So  was  the  mathematics  professor,  old  "  Ichthyo 
saurus  "  James,  a  very  fine  old  ruin,  whom  Hogboom 
hated  with  a  frenzy  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  but 
who,  it  seemed,  had  worked  up  a  great  regard  for 
Hogboom  through  having  him  for  three  years  in  the 
same  trigonometry  class. 

We  went  out  of  Faculty  meeting  men  and  equals 
with  the  professors.  They  walked  down  to  the  cor 
ner  with  us,  I  remember,  and  I  talked  with  Gander, 
the  Polykon  professor,  who  had  always  seemed  to  me 
to  be  the  embodiment  of  Comanche  cruelty  and  cun 
ning.  We  talked  of  Hogboom  all  the  way  to  the 
corner.  Wonderful  how  deeply  the  Faculty  loved 
the  boy;  and  with  what  Spartan  firmness  they  had 
concealed  all  indications  of  it  through  his  career! 

When  Monday  night  came  we  began  to  breathe 
more  easily.  Of  course  there  was  some  kind  of  a 


94  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

deluge  coming  when  Hogboom  appeared,  but  that 
was  his  affair.  We  didn't  propose  to  monkey  with 
the  resurrection  at  all.  He  could  do  his  own  ex 
plaining.  To  tell  the  truth,  we  were  pretty  sore  at 
Hogboom.  He  was  making  a  regular  Roman  holiday 
out  of  his  demise.  It  kept  four  men  busy  running 
errands  for  him.  We  had  to  retail  him  every  com 
pliment  that  we  had  heard  during  the  day,  especially 
if  it  came  from  the  Faculty.  We  had  to  describe  in 
detail  the  effect  of  the  news  upon  six  or  seven  girls, 
for  all  of  whom  Hogboom  had  a  tender  regard.  He 
insisted  upon  arranging  the  funeral  and  vetoed  our 
plans  as  fast  as  we  made  them.  He  was  as  domineer 
ing  and  ugly  as  if  he  was  the  only  man  who  had  ever 
met  a  tragic  end.  He  acted  as  if  he  had  a  monopoly. 
We  hated  him  cordially  by  Monday  night,  but  we  were 
helpless.  Hoggy  claimed  that  being  dead  was  a  nerve- 
wearing  and  exhausting  business,  and  that  if  he  did  n't 
get  the  respect  due  to  him  as  a  corpse  he  would  put 
on  his  plug  hat  and  a  plush  curtain  and  walk  up 
the  main  street  of  Jonesville.  And  as  he  was  a  foot 
ball  man  and  a  blamed  fool  combined  we  did  n't  see 
any  way  of  preventing  him. 

However,  everything  looked  promising.  We  had 
made  all  the  necessary  arrangements.  The  students 
were  to  meet  in  chapel  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing  and  eulogize  Hogboom  for  an  hour,  after  which 
college  was  to  be  dismissed  for  the  day  in  order  that 
unlimited  mourning  could  be  indulged  in.  There 
were  to  be  speeches  by  the  Faculty  and  by  students. 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan    95 

Maxfield,  the  human  textbook,  was  to  make  the  ad 
dress  for  the  Senior  class.  \Ve  chuckled  when  we 
thought  how  he  was  toiling  over  it.  Noddy  Pierce, 
of  our  crowd,  was  to  talk  about  Hogboom  as  a  brother ; 
Rogers,  of  the  football  team,  was  to  make  a  few 
grief-saturated  remarks.  So  was  Perkins.  Every 
one  was  confidently  expecting  Perkins  to  make  the 
effort  of  his  life  and  swamp  the  chapel  in  sorrow. 
He  was  in  the  secret  and  he  afterward  said  that  he 
would  rather  try  to  write  a  Shakespearean  tragedy 
offhand  than  to  write  another  funeral  oration  about 
a  man  who  he  knew  was  at  that  moment  sitting  in 
a  pair  of  pajamas  in  an  upper  room  half  a  mile 
away  and  yelling  for  pie. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  were  so  many  in  the 
secret  that  we  were  dead  afraid  that  it  would  explode. 
We  had  to  put  the  baseball  team  on  so  that  they 
would  be  prepared  to  go  over  to  Hambletonian  at 
noon.  The  game  had  been  called  off,  of  course,  and 
Hambletonian  had  been  telegraphed.  But  I  was 
secretary  of  the  Athletic  Club  and  had  done  the  tele 
graphing.  So  I  addressed  the  telegram  to  my  aunt 
in  New  Jersey.  It  puzzled  the  dear  old  lady  for 
months,  I  guess,  because  she  kept  writing  to  me  about 
it.  We  had  to  tell  all  the  fellows  in  the  frat  house 
and  every  one  of  the  conspirators  let  in  a  friend  or 
two.  There  were  about  fifty  students  who  weren't 
as  soggy  with  grief  as  they  should  have  been  by 
Monday  night. 

I  blame  Hogboom  entirely  for  what  happened.    He 


96  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

started  it  when  he  insisted  that  he  be  smuggled  into 
the  chapel  to  hear  his  own  funeral  orations.  We 
argued  half  the  Monday  night  with  him,  but  it  was 
no  use.  He  simply  demanded  it.  If  all  dead  men  are 
as  disagreeable  as  Hogboom  was,  no  undertaker's  job 
for  me.  He  was  the  limit.  He  put  on  a  blue  bath 
robe  and  got  as  far  as  the  door  on  his  promenade 
downtown  before  we  gave  in  and  promised  to  do  any 
thing  he  wanted.  We  had  to  break  into  the  chapel 
and  stow  him  away  in  a  little  grilled  alcove  in  the 
attic  on  the  side  of  the  auditorium  where  he  could 
hear  everything.  Sounds  uncomfortable,  but  don't 
imagine  it  was.  That  nervy  slavedriver  made  us  lug 
over  two  dozen  sofa  pillows,  a  rug  or  two,  a  bottle 
of  moisture  and  three  pies  to  while  away  the  time 
with.  That  was  where  we  first  began  to  think  of 
revenge.  We  got  it,  too  —  only  we  got  it  the  way 
Samson  did  when  he  jerked  the  columns  out  from 
under  the  roof  and  furnished  the  material  for  a  gen 
eral  funeral,  with  himself  in  the  leading  role. 

By  the  time  we  got  Hogboom  planted  in  his  lux 
urious  nest,  about  three  A.  M.,  we  were  ready  to  do 
anything.  Some  of  us  were  for  giving  the  whole  snap 
away,  but  Pierce  and  Perkins  and  Rogers  objected. 
They  wanted  to  deliver  their  speeches  at  the  meeting. 
If  we  would  leave  it  to  them,  they  said,  they  would 
see  that  justice  was  ladled  out. 

The  whole  college  and  most  of  the  town  were  at 
the  memorial  meeting.  It  was  a  grand  and  tear- 
spangled  occasion.  There  were  three  grades  of  emo- 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan    97 

tion  plainly  visible.  There  was  the  resigned  and 
almost  pleased  expression  of  the  students  who  were  n't 
in  on  the  deal  and  who  saw  a  vacation  looming  up 
for  that  afternoon;  the  grieved  and  sympathetic 
sorrow  of  the  Faculty  who  were  attempting  to  mourn 
for  what  they  had  always  called  a  general  school 
nuisance;  and  there  was  the  phenomenally  solemn 
woe  of  the  conspirators,  who  were  spreading  it  on 
good  and  thick. 

The  Faculty  spoke  first.  Beats  all  how  much  of  a 
hypocrite  a  good  man  can  be  when  he  feels  it  to  be 
his  duty.  There  was  Bates,  the  Latin  prof.  He  had 
struggled  with  Hogboom  three  years  and  had  often 
expressed  the  firm  opinion  that,  if  Hoggy  were  re 
moved  from  this  world  by  a  masterpiece  of  justice 
of  some  sort,  the  general  tone  of  civilization  would 
go  up  fifty  per  cent.  Yet  Bates  got  up  that  morning 
and  cried  —  yes,  sir,  actually  cried.  Cried  into  a 
large  pocket  handkerchief  that  wasn't  water-tight, 
either.  That 's  more  than  Hoggy  would  ever  have 
done  for  him.  And  Prexy  was  so  sympathetic  and 
spoke  so  beautifully  of  young  soldiers  getting  drawn 
aside  by  Fate  on  their  way  to  the  battle,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  that  you  would  have  thought  he  had 
spent  the  last  three  years  loving  Hogboom  —  whereas 
he  had  spent  most  of  the  time  trying  to  get  some  good 
excuse  for  rooting  him  out  of  school.  You  know  how 
Faculties  always  dislike  a  good  football  player.  I 
think,  myself,  they  are  jealous  of  his  fame. 

Maxfield  made  a  telling  address  for  the  Senior 


98  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

class.  He  and  Hoggy  had  always  disagreed,  but  it 
was  all  over  now;  and  the  way  he  laid  it  on  was 
simply  wonderful.  I  thought  of  Hoggy  up  there  be 
hind  the  grilling,  swelling  with  pride  and  satisfaction 
as  Maxfield  told  how  brave,  how  tender,  how  affec 
tionate  and  how  honorable  he  was,  and  I  wished  I 
was  dead,  too.  Being  dead  with  a  string  to  it  is 
one  of  the  finest  things  that  can  happen  to  a  man  if 
he  can  just  hang  around  and  listen  to  people. 

Pierce  got  up.  He  was  the  college  silver-tongue, 
and  we  settled  back  to  listen  to  him.  Previous 
speakers  had  made  Hoggy  out  about  as  fine  as  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  but  they  were  amateurs.  Here  was 
where  Hoggy  went  up  beside  A.  Lincoln  and  Alex 
ander  if  Pierce  was  anywhere  near  himself. 

There  is  no  denying  that  Pierce  started  out  mag 
nificently.  But  pretty  soon  I  began  to  have  an  uneasy 
feeling  that  something  was  wrong.  He  was  eloquent 
enough,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  handling 
the  deceased  a  little  too  strenuously.  You  know 
how  you  can  damn  a  man  in  nine  ways  and  then  pull 
all  the  stingers  out  with  a  "  but "  at  the  end  of  it. 
That  was  what  Pierce  was  doing.  "  What  if  Hog- 
boom  was,  in  a  way,  fond  of  his  ease  ?  "  he  thundered. 
"  What  if  the  spirit  of  good  fellowship  linked  arms 
with  him  when  lessons  were  waiting,  and  led  him 
to  the  pool  hall  ?  He  may  have  been  dilatory  in  his 
college  duties;  he  may  have  wasted  his  allowance 
on  billiards  instead  of  in  missionary  contributions. 
He  may  have  owed  money  —  yes,  a  lot  of  money. 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan     99 

He  may,  indeed,  have  been  a  little  selfish  —  which 
one  of  us  is  n't  ?  He  may  have  frittered  away  time 
for  which  his  parents  were  spending  the  fruit  of 
their  early  toil  —  but  youth,  friends,  is  a  golden  age 
when  life  runs  riot,  and  he  is  only  half  a  man  who 
stops  to  think  of  petty  prudence." 

That  was  all  very  well  to  say  about  Rameses  or 
Julius  Caesar  or  some  other  deceased  who  is  pretty 
well  seasoned,  but  I  '11  tell  you  it  made  the  college 
gasp,  coming  when  it  did.  It  sounded  sacrilegious 
and  to  me  it  sounded  as  if  some  one  who  was  noted  as 
an  orator  was  going  to  get  thumped  by  the  late  Mr. 
Hogboom  about  the  next  day.  I  perspired  a  lot  from 
nervousness  as  Pierce  rumbled  on,  first  praising  the 
departed  and  then  landing  on  him  with  both  oratorical 
feet.  When  he  finally  sat  down  and  mopped  his  fore 
head  the  whole  school  gave  one  of  those  long  breaths 
that  you  let  go  of  when  you  have  just  come  up  from 
a  dive  under  cold  water. 

Rogers  followed  Pierce.  Rogers  was  n't  much  of 
a  talker,  but  he  surpassed  even  his  own  record  that 
day  in  falling  over  himself.  When  he  tried  to  illus 
trate  how  thoughtful  and  generous  Hogboom  was  he 
blundered  into  the  story  of  the  time  Hoggy  bet  all 
of  his  money  on  a  baseball  game  at  Muggledorfer, 
and  of  how  he  walked  home  with  his  chum  and  car 
ried  the  latter's  coat  and  grip  all  the  way.  That 
made  the  Faculty  wriggle,  I  can  tell  you.  He  illus 
trated  the  pluck  of  the  deceased  by  telling  how  Hog 
boom,  as  a  Freshman,  dug  all  night  alone  to  rescue 


100  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

a  man  imprisoned  in  a  sewer,  spurred  on  by  his  cries 
—  though  Rogers  explained  in  his  halting  way,  it 
afterward  turned  out  that  this  was  only  the  famous 
"  sewer  racket "  which  is  worked  on  every  green 
Freshman,  and  that  the  cries  for  help  came  from  a 
Sophomore  who  was  alternately  smoking  a  pipe  and 
yelling  into  a  drain  across  the  road.  Still,  Rogers 
said,  it  illustrated  Hoghoom's  nobility  of  spirit.  In 
his  blundering  fashion  he  went  on  to  explain  some 
more  of  Hoggy's  good  points,  and  by  the  time  he  sat 
down  there  was  n't  a  shred  of  the  latter's  reputation 
left  intact.  The  whole  school  was  grinning  uncom 
fortably,  and  the  Faculty  was  acting  as  if  it  was 
sitting,  individually  and  collectively,  on  seventeen 
great  gross  of  red-hot  pins. 

By  this  time  we  conspirators  were  divided  between 
holy  joy  and  a  fear  that  the  thing  was  going  to  be 
overdone.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  the  Faculty 
wasn't  going  to  stand  for  much  more  loving  frank 
ness.  Pierce  whispered  to  Tad  Perkins,  Hogboom's 
chum,  and  the  worst  victim  of  his  posthumous  whims, 
to  draw  it  mild  and  go  slow.  Perkins  was  to  make 
the  last  talk,  and  we  trembled  in  our  shoes  when  he 
got  up. 

We  need  n't  have  feared  for  Perkins.  He  was 
as  smooth  as  a  Tammany  orator.  He  praised  Hog- 
boom  so  pathetically  that  the  chapel  began  to  show 
acres  of  white  handkerchiefs  again.  Very  gently  he 
talked  over  his  career,  his  bravery  and  his  achieve 
ments.  Then  just  as  poetically  and  gently  he  glided 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan    101 

on  into  the  biggest  lie  that  has  been  told  since 
Ananias  short-circuited  retribution  with  his  unholy 
tale. 

"  What  fills  up  the  heart  and  the  throat,  fellows," 
he  swung  along,  "  is  not  the  loss  we  have  sustained ; 
not  the  irreparable  injury  to  all  our  college  activities ; 
not  even  the  vacant  chair  that  must  sit  mutely  elo 
quent  beside  us  this  year.  It 's  something  worse  than 
that.  Perhaps  I  should  not  be  telling  this.  It 's 
known  to  but  a  few  of  his  most  intimate  friends. 
The  saddest  thing  of  all  is  the  fact  that  back  in  Weep 
ing  Water  there  is  a  girl  —  a  lovely  girl  —  who  will 
never  smile  again." 

Phew!  You  could  just  feel  the  feminine  side  of 
the  chapel  stiffen  —  Hogboom  was  the  worst  fusser 
in  college.  He  was  chronically  in  love  with  no  less 
than  four  girls  and  was  devoted  to  dozens  at  a  time. 
We  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  at  that  time  en 
gaged  to  two,  and  spring  was  only  half  over  at  that. 
This  was  the  best  of  all;  our  revenge  was  complete. 

"  A  girl,"  Perkins  purred  on,  "  who  has  grown  up 
with  him  from  childhood ;  who  whispered  her  promise 
to  him  while  yet  in  short  dresses;  who  sat  at  home 
and  waited  and  dreamed  while  her  knight  fought  his 
way  to  glory  in  college ;  who  treasured  his  vows  and 
wore  his  ring  and  —  " 

"  'T  ain't  so,  you  blamed  idiot !  "  came  a  hoarse 
voice  from  above.  If  the  chapel  had  been  stormed  by 
Comanches  there  could  n't  have  been  more  of  a  com 
motion.  A  thousand  pairs  of  eyes  focused  themselves 


102  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

on  the  grill.  It  sagged  in  and  then  disappeared  with 
a  crash.  The  towsled  head  of  Hogboom  came  out  of 
the  opening. 

"  I  '11  fix  you  for  that,  Tad  Perkins !  "  he  yelled. 
"  I  '11  get  even  with  you  if  it  takes  me  the  rest  of  my 
life.  I  ain't  engaged  to  any  Weeping  Water  girl. 
You  know  it,  you  liar !  I  've  had  enough  of  this  —  " 
You  could  n't  hear  any  more  for  the  shrieks.  When 
a  supposedly  dead  man  sticks  his  head  out  of  a  jog 
in  the  ceiling  and  offers  to  fight  his  Mark  Antony  it 
is  bound  to  create  some  commotion.  Even  the  pro 
fessors  turned  white.  As  for  the  girls  —  great  smell 
ing  salts,  what  a  cinch !  They  fainted  in  windrows. 
Some  of  us  carried  out  as  many  as  six,  and  you  had 
better  believe  we  were  fastidious  in  our  choice,  too. 

There  had  never  been  such  a  sensation  since  Siwash 
was  invented.  Between  the  panic-stricken,  the  dazed, 
the  hilarious,  the  indignant  and  the  guilty  wretches 
like  myself,  who  were  wondering  how  in  thunder  there 
was  going  to  be  any  explaining  done,  that  chapel  was 
just  as  coherent  as  a  madhouse.  And  then  Hogboom 
himself  burst  in  a  side  door,  and  it  took  seven  of  us 
to  prevent  him  from  reducing  Perkins  to  a  paste  and 
frescoing  him  all  over  the  chapel  walls.  Everybody 
was  rattled  but  Prexy.  I  think  Prexy's  circulation 
was  principally  ice  water.  When  the  row  was  over 
he  got  up  and  blandly  announced  that  classes  would 
take  up  immediately  and  that  the  Faculty  would  meet 
in  extraordinary  session  that  noon. 

How  did  we  get  out  of  it?    Well,  if  you  want  to 


A  Funeral  That  Flashed  In  The  Pan    103 

catch  the  last  car,  old  man,  I  '11  have  to  hit  the  high 
spots  on  the  sequel.  Of  course,  it  was  a  tremendous 
scandal  —  a  memorial  meeting  breaking  up  in  a  fight. 
We  all  stood  to  be  expelled,  and  some  of  the  Faculty 
were  sorry  they  could  n't  hang  us,  I  guess,  from  the 
way  they  talked.  But  in  the  end  it  blew  over  be 
cause  there  was  n't  much  of  anything  to  hang  on  any 
one.  The  telegrams  were  all  traced  to  the  agent  at 
Weeping  Water,  and  he  identified  the  sender  as  a 
long,  short,  thick,  stout,  agricultural-looking  man  in  a 
plug  hat,  or  words  to  that  effect.  What 's  more,  he 
declared  it  was  n't  his  duty  to  chase  around  town  con 
firming  messages  —  he  was  paid  to  send  them.  Hog- 
boom  had  a  harder  time,  but  he,  too,  explained  that 
he  had  come  home  from  Weeping  Water  a  day  late, 
owing  to  a  slight  attack  of  appendicitis,  and  that 
when  he  found  himself  late  for  chapel  he  had  climbed 
up  into  the  balcony  through  a  side  door  to  hear  the 
chapel  talk,  of  which  he  was  very  fond,  and  had 
found,  to  his  amazement,  that  he  was  being  reviled 
by  his  friends  under  the  supposition  that  he  was 
dead  and  unable  to  defend  himself.  Nobody  believed 
Hogboom,  but  nobody  could  suggest  any  proof  of  his 
villainy  —  so  the  Faculty  gave  him  an  extra  five- 
thousand-word  oration  by  way  of  punishment,  and 
Hogboom  made  Perkins  write  it  in  two  nights  by 
threats  of  making  a  clean  breast.  Poor  Hoggy  came 
out  of  it  pretty  badly.  I  think  it  broke  both  of  his 
engagements,  and  what  between  explaining  to  the 
Faculty  and  studying  to  make  a  good  showing  and 


104  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

redeem  himself,  he  did  n't  have  time  to  work  up  an 
other  before  Commencement  —  while  the  rest  of  us 
lived  in  mortal  terror  of  exposure  and  did  n't  enjoy 
ourselves  a  bit  all  through  May,  though  it  was  some 
comfort  to  reflect  on  what  would  have  happened  if 
the  scheme  had  worked  —  for  Hambletonian  beat  us 
to  a  frazzle  that  afternoon. 

That 's  what  we  got  for  monkeying  with  a  solemn 
subject.  But,  pshaw !  Who  cares  in  college  ?  What 
a  student  can  do  is  limited  only  by  what  he  can  think 
up.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  what  we  did  to  the  English 
Explorer  ?  Take  another  cigar.  It  is  n't  late  yet. 


CHAPTER   V 

COLLEGES   WHILE  YOU    WAIT 

MIND  you,  old  head,  I  'm  not  saying  that  a  little 
education  is  n't  a  good  thing  in  a  college  course. 
I  learned  a  lot  of  real  knowledge  in  school  myself 
that  I  wouldn't  have  missed  for  anything,  though  I 
have  forgotten  it  now.  But  what  irritate  me  are  the 
people  who  think  that  the  education  you  get  in  a 
modern  American  super-heated, '  cross-compound  col 
lege  comes  to  you  already  canned  in  neat  little  text 
books  sold  by  the  trust  at  one  hundred  per  cent 
profit,  and  that  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  go  to  your 
room  with  them,  fill  up  a  student  lamp  with  essence 
of  General  Education  and  take  the  lid  off. 

Honest,  lots  of  them  think  that.  It  might  have 
been  so,  too,  in  the  good  old  days  when  there  was 
only  one  college  graduate  for  each  town  and  he  had 
to  do  the  heavy  thinking  for  the  whole  community. 
But,  pshaw !  the  easiest  job  in  the  world  nowadays  is 
to  stuff  your  storage  battery  full  of  Greek  verbs  and 
obituaries  in  English  literature,  and  the  hardest  job 
is  to  get  it  hitched  up  to  something  that  will  bring 
in  the  yellowbacks,  the  chopped-wood  furniture,  the 
automobile  tires  and  the  large  majorities  in  the  fall 


106  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

elections.  I  Ve  seen  brilliant  boys  at  old  Siwash  go 
out  of  college  knowing  everything  that  had  ever  hap 
pened  in  the  world  up  to  one  hundred  years  ago,  and 
try  to  peddle  hexameters  in  the  wholesale  district  in 
Chicago.  And  I  've  seen  boys  who  slid  through  the 
course  just  half  a  hair's  breadth  ahead  of  the  Faculty 
boot,  go  out  and  do  the  bossing  for  a  whole  Con 
gressional  district  in  five  years.  They  had  n't  learned 
the  exact  chemical  formula  of  the  universe,  but  they 
had  learned  how  to  run  the  blamed  thing  from  prac 
ticing  on  the  college  during  study  hours. 

Not  that  I  'm  knocking  on  knowledge,  you  under 
stand.  Knowledge  is,  of  course,  a  grand  thing  to 
have  around  the  house.  But  nowadays  knowledge 
alone  is  n't  worth  as  much  as  it  used  to  be,  seems 
to  me.  A  man  has  to  mix  it  up  with  imagination, 
and  ingenuity,  and  hustle,  and  nerve,  and  the  science 
of  getting  mad  at  the  right  time,  and  a  fourteen-year 
course  of  study  in  understanding  the  other  fellow. 
The  college  professors  lump  all  this  in  one  course 
and  call  it  applied  deviltry.  They  don't  put  it  down 
in  the  catalogue  and  they  encourage  you  to  cut  classes 
in  it.  But,  honestly,  I  would  n't  trade  what  I  learned 
under  Professor  Petey  Simmons,  warm  boy  and 
official  gadfly  to  the  Faculty,  for  all  the  Lat.  and 
Greek  and  Analit.  and  Diffy.  CaL,  and  the  other 
studies  —  whatever  they  were  —  that  I  took  in  good 
old  Siwash. 

You  remember  Petey,  of  course.  He  went  through 
Siwash  in  four  years  and  eight  suspensions,  and 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  107 

came  out  fresh  —  as  fresh,  as  when  he  went  in,  which 
is  saying  a  good  deal.  Every  summer  during  his 
career  the  Faculty  went  to  a  rest  cure  and  tried  to 
forget  him.  He  was  as  handy  to  have  around  school 
as  a  fox  terrier  in  a  cat  show.  There  are  two  varie 
ties  of  college  students  —  the  midnight-oil  and  the 
natural-gas  kind;  and  Petey  was  a  whole  gas  well 
in  himself.  Not  that  he  didn't  study.  He  was 
the  hardest  student  in  the  college,  but  he  did  n't 
recite  much  in  classes.  Sometimes  he  recited  in  the 
police  court,  sometimes  to  his  Pa  hack  home,  and 
sometimes  the  whole  college  took  a  hand  in  looking 
over  his  examination  papers.  He  used  to  pass  medium 
fair  in  Horace ;  sub-passable  in  Trig.,  and  extraordi 
nary  mediocre  in  Polikon.  But  his  marks  in  Imagi 
nation,  the  Psychological  Moment  and  Dodging 
Consequences  were  plus  perfect,  extra  magnificent, 
and  superlatively  some,  respectively. 

I  saw  Petey  last  year.  He  is  in  Chicago  now. 
You  have  to  bribe  a  doorkeeper  and  bluff  a  secretary 
to  get  to  him  —  that  is,  you  do  if  you  are  an  ordinary 
mortal.  But  if  you  give  the  Siwash  yell  or  the  Eta 
Bita  Pie  whistle  in  the  outside  office  he  will  emerge 
from  his  office  out  over  the  railing  in  one  joyous 
jump.  He  came  to  Chicago  ten  years  ago  equipped 
with  a  diploma  and  a  two-year  tailor-bill  back  at 
Jonesville  that  he  had  been  afraid  to  tell  his  folks 
about.  If  he  had  been  a  midnight-oil  graduate  he 
would  have  worn  out  three  pairs  of  shoes  hunting  for 
a  business  house  which  was  willing  to  let  an  earnest 


108  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

young  scholar  enter  its  employ  at  the  bottom  and  rise 
gradually  to  the  top  as  the  century  went  by.  But 
Petey  was  n't  that  kind.  He  had  been  used  to  run 
ning  the  whole  college  and  messing  up  the  universe 
as  far  as  one  could  see  from  the  Siwash  belfry  if 
things  did  n't  suit  him.  So  he  picked  out  the  likeliest- 
looking  institution  on  Dearborn  Street  and  offered 
it  a  position  as  his  employer.  He  was  on  the  pay 
roll  before  the  president  got  over  his  daze.  Two 
weeks  later  he  promoted  the  firm  to  a  more  respon 
sible  job  —  that  of  paying  him  a  bigger  salary  — 
and  a  year  ago  the  general  manager  gave  up  and  went 
to  Europe  for  two  years ;  said  he  would  take  a  posi 
tive  pleasure  in  coming  back  and  looking  at  the 
map  of  Chicago  after  Petey  had  done  it  over  to  suit 
himself. 

Imagination  was  what  did  it.  You  can't  take 
Imagination  in  any  college  classroom,  but  you  can 
get  more  of  it  on  the  campus  in  four  years  than 
you  can  anywhere  else  in  the  world.  You  Ve  got  to 
have  a  mighty  good  imagination  to  get  into  any  real 
warm  trouble  —  and  by  the  time  you  have  gotten 
out  of  it  again  you  have  had  to  double  its  horse-power. 
That  was  Petey's  daily  recreation.  In  the  morning 
he  would  think  up  an  absolutely  air-tight  reason  for 
being  expelled  from  Siwash  as  a  disturber,  an  anar 
chist,  a  superfluosity  and  a  malefactor  of  great 
stealth.  That  night  he  would  go  to  his  room  and 
figure  out  an  equally  good  proof  that  nothing  had 
happened  or  that  whatever  had  happened  was  an  act 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  109 

of  Providence  and  not  traceable  -to  any  .student. 
Figuring  out  ways  for  selling  bonds  in  carload  lots 
was  just  recreation  to  him  after  a  four-year  course 
of  this  sort. 

But  to  back  in  on  the  main  track.  I  whistled 
outside  of  Petey's  office  the  other  day  and  went  in 
with  him  past  two  magnates,  three  salesmen  and  a 
bank  president.  I  sat  with  my  feet  on  a  mahogany 
table  —  I  wanted  to  put  them  on  an  oak  desk,  but 
Petey  declared  mahogany  was  none  too  good  for  a 
Siwash  man  —  and  we  spent  an  hour  talking  over 
the  time  when  Petey  manufactured  excitement  in 
wholesale  lots  at  Siwash,  with  me  for  his  first  assistant 
and  favorite  apprentice.  Those  are  my  proudest 
memories.  I  won  my  track  S.  and  got  honorably 
mentioned  in  three  Commencement  exercises;  but 
when  I  want  to  brag  of  my  college  career  do  I  men 
tion  these  things  ?  Not  unless  I  have  a  lot  of  time. 
When  I  want  to  paralyze  an  alumnus  of  some  rival 
college  with  admiration  and  envy,  I  tell  him  how 
Petey  and  I  manufactured  a  real  Wild  West  college 
—  buildings,  Faculty,  bad  men  and  all  —  for  one 
day  only,  for  the  benefit  of  an  Englishman  who  had 
gotten  fifteen  hundred  miles  inland  without  noticing 
the  generol  color  scheme  of  the  inhabitants. 

We  met  this  chap  accidentally  —  a  little  favor  of 
Providence,  which  had  a  special  pigeonhole  for  us  in 
those  days.  Our  team  had  been  using  the  Kiowa  foot 
ball  team  as  a  running  track  on  their  own  field  that  af 
ternoon,  and  the  score  was  about  105  to  0  when  the 


110  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

timekeeper  turned  off  the  massacre.  Naturally  all  Si- 
wash  was  happy.  I  will  admit  we  were  too  happy  to  be 
careful.  About  two  hundred  of  us  made  the  hundred- 
mile  trip  home  by  local  train  that  night,  and  I  remem 
ber  wondering,  when  the  boys  dumped  the  stove  off  the 
rear  platform  and  tied  up  the  conductor  in  his  own 
bell-rope,  if  we  were  n't  getting  just  a  little  bit  indis 
creet;  and  when  a  college  boy  really  wonders  if  he 
is  getting  indiscreet  he  is  generally  doing  something 
that  will  keep  the  grand  jury  busy  for  the  next  few 
months. 

I  was  in  the  last  car,  and  had  just  finished  telling 
"  Prince  "  Hogboom  that  if  he  poked  any  more  win 
dow-lights  out  with  his  cane  he  would  have  to  finish 
the  year  under  an  assumed  name,  when  Petey  crawled 
over  two  mobs  of  rough-housers  and  came  up  to  me. 
He  was  seething  with  indignation.  It  was  breaking 
out  all  over  him  like  a  rash.  Petey  was  excitable 
anyway. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  I  Ve  found  in  the  next 
car  ? "  he  said,  fizzing  like  an  escape  valve. 

"  Prof  ?  "  said  I,  getting  alarmed. 

"  Naw,"  said  Petey ;  "  worse  than  that.  A  chap 
that  has  never  heard  of  Siwash.  Asked  me  if  it  was 
a  breakfast  food.  He  's  an  Englishman.  I  'm  ag'in' 
the  English."  He  stopped  and  began  kicking  a  water- 
tank  around  to  relieve  himself. 

"  How  did  he  get  this  far  away  from  home  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  He  's  traveling,"  snorted  Petey ;   "  traveling  to 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  111 

improve  his  mind.  Hopeless  job.  He  's  one  of  those 
quarter-sawed  old  beef-eaters  who  stop  thinking  as 
soon  as  they  've  got  their  education.  He  's  the  editor 
of  a  missionary  publication,  he  told  me,  and  he  ia 
writing  some  articles  on  Heathen  America.  Honest, 
it  almost  made  me  boil  over  when  he  asked  me  if 
anything  was  being  done  to  educate  the  aborigines 
out  here." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Do  ?  "  said  Petey.  "  Why,  I  answered  his  ques 
tion,  of  course.  I  told  him  he  was  n't  fifty  miles 
from  a  college  this  minute,  and  he  said,  '  Oh,  I  say 
now !  Are  you  spoofing  me  ? '  What 's  '  spoofing '  ?  " 

"  Kidding,  stringing,  stuffing,  jollying  along,  blow 
ing  east  wind,  turning  on  the  gas,"  says  I.  "  *  Spoof 
ing  '  is  University  English.  They  don't  use  slang 
over  there,  you  know." 

"  Well,  then,  I  spoofed  him,"  said  Petey,  grinning. 
"  He  said  it  was  remarkable  how  very  few  revolvers 
he  had  seen,  and  then  he  wanted  to  know  why  there 
was  no  shooting  on  the  train  with  so  much  disorder. 
He  's  pretty  well  posted  now.  I  M  go  a  mile  out  of 
my  way  to  help  a  poor  dumb  chap  like  him.  I  told 
him  this  was  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  section  of  Si  wash  and 
that  the  real  rough  students  were  coming  along  on 
horseback.  I  said  they  were  n't  allowed  on  the  trains 
because  they  were  so  fatal  to  passengers.  I  informed 
him  that  all  the  profs  at  Siwash  went  armed,  and 
that  the  course  of  study  consisted  of  mining,  draw 
poker,  shooting  from  the  hip,  broncho-busting,  sheep- 


112  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

shearing,  History  of  Art,  bread-making  and  Evidences 
of  Christianity." 

"  Did  he  admit  by  that  time  that  you  were  a 
good,  free-handed  liar  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Admit  nothing,"  said  Petey ;  "  he  took  it  all 
down  in  his  notebook  and  remarked  that  in  a  wild 
country  like  this,  remote  from  civilization,  a  knowl 
edge  of  bread-making  would  undoubtedly  be  invalu 
able  to  a  man." 

"  He  was  spoofing  you,"  says  I. 

"  He  was  n't,"  said  Petey ;  "  he  thinks  he  's  a  thou 
sand  miles  from  a  plug  hat  this  minute.  He  's  so 
interested  he  is  going  to  stop  over  for  a  day  or  two 
and  write  up  the  college  for  his  magazine.  I  Ve 
invited  him  to  stay  at  the  Eta  Bita  Pie  House  with 
us,  and  we  're  going  to  show  him  a  real  Wild  West 
school  if  we  have  to  shoot  blank  cartridges  at  the 
cook  to  do  it." 

"  Petey,"  said  I  solemnly,  "  some  day  you  '11  bump 
an  asteroid  when  you  go  up  in  the  air  like  this.  This 
friend  of  yours  will  take  one  look  at  Siwash  and  ask 
you  if  Sapphira  is  feeling  well  these  days." 

"  Bet  you  five,  my  opera  hat,  a  good  mandolin  and 
a  meal  ticket  on  Jim's  place  against  your  dress  suit," 
said  Petey  promptly.  "  And  you  better  not  take  it, 
either." 

"  Done !  "  says  I.  "  I  bet  you  my  hunting-case 
suit  against  your  earthly  possessions  that  you  can't 
tow  old  Britannia-rules-the- waves  around  Siwash  for 
a  day  without  disclosing  the  fact  that  you  are  the 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  113 

best  catch-as-catch-can  liar  in  this  section  of  the  solar 
system." 

"  All  right,"  said  Petey.  "  But  you  've  got  to  help 
me  win  the  stuff.  This  is  a  great  big  contract.  It 's 
going  to  be  my  masterpiece,  and  I  need  help." 

"  I  'm  with  you  clear  to  Faculty  meeting,  as  usual," 
says  I.  "  But  what 's  the  use  ?  He  '11  catch  on." 

"  Leave  that  to  me,"  said  Petey.  "  Anyway,  he 
won't  catch  on.  When  I  told  him  we  had  a  check 
room  for  pappooses  in  the  Siwash  chapel  he  wrote  it 
down  and  asked  if  the  Indians  ever  massacred  the 
professors.  He  wouldn't  catch  on  if  we  fed  him 
dog  for  dinner.  Just  come  and  see  for  yourself." 

I  agreed  with  Petey  when  I  took  a  good  look  at 
the  victim  a  minute  later.  We  found  him  in  the 
car  ahead,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  seat  and  looking 
as  if  he  expected  to  be  eaten  alive,  without  salt,  any 
minute.  You  could  have  told  that  he  was  from  ex 
tremely  elsewhere  at  first  glance.  He  was  as  different 
as  if  he  had  worn  tattoo-marks  for  trousers.  He  was 
a  stout  party  with  black-rimmed  eyeglasses,  side  whis 
kers  that  you  would  n't  have  believed  even  if  you  had 
seen  them,  and  slabs  of  iron-gray  hair  with  a  pepper- 
and-salt  traveling  cap  stuck  on  top  of  his  head  like 
a  cupola.  He  was  beautifully  curved  and  his  black 
preacher  uniform  looked  as  if  it  had  been  put  on 
him  by  a  paperhanger.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  his 
name  was  the  Reverend  Ponsonby  Diggs.  He  had 
to  tell  it  to  me  four  times  and  then  write  it  down,  for 
the  way  he  handled  his  words  was  positively  heart- 


114  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

less.  He  clipped  them,  beheaded  them,  disemboweled 
them  and  warped  them  all  out  of  shape.  Have  you 
ever  heard  a  real  ingrowing  Englishman  start  a  word 
in  the  roof  of  his  mouth  and  then  back  away  from  it 
as  if  it  was  red-hot  and  had  prickles  on  it  ?  It 's 
interesting.  They  seem  to  think  it  is  indecent  to 
come  brazenly  out  and  sound  a  vowel. 

The  Reverend  Ponsonby  Diggs  —  as  near  as  I 
could  get  it  he  called  himself  "  Pubby  Daggs "  — 
greeted  Petey  with  great  relief.  He  seemed  to  regard 
us  as  a  rescue  brigade.  "  Reahly,  you  know,  this  is 
extraordinary,"  he  sputtered.  "  I  have  never  seen 
such  disorder.  What  will  the  authorities  do  ?  " 

That  touched  my  pride.  "  Pshaw,  man !  "  I  says ; 
"  we  're  only  warming  up.  Pretty  soon  we  '11  take 
this  train  out  in  the  woods  and  lose  it." 

I  meant  it  for  a  joke.  But  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Diggs  had  n't  specialized  in  American  jokes.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  say  they  will  derail  the  train !  "  he 
said  anxiously.  Then  I  knew  that  Petey  was  going 
to  win  my  dress  suit. 

I  assured  the  Reverend  —  pshaw,  I  'm  tired  of  say 
ing  all  that !  I  'm  going  to  save  breath.  I  assured 
Diggsey  that  derailing  was  the  kindest  thing  ever 
done  to  trains  by  Siwash  students,  but  that  as  his 
hosts  we  would  stand  by  him,  whatever  happened. 
Then  Petey  slipped  away  to  arrange  the  cast  and  I 
kept  on  answering  questions.  Say!  that  man  was  a 
regular  magazine  gun,  loaded  with  interrogation 
points.  Was  there  any  danger  to  life  on  these  trains  ? 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  115 

Would  it  be  possible  for  him  to  take  a  ride  in  a  stage 
coach?  Were  train  robbers  still  plentiful?  Had 
gold  ever  been  found  around  Siwash?  Were  the 
Indians  troublesome  ?  Did  we  have  regular  school 
buildings  or  did  we  live  in  tents  ?  Had  not  the  rail 
road  had  a  distinctly  —  er  —  civilizing  influence  in 
this  region?  Was  it  not,  after  all,  remarkable  that 
the  thirst  for  learning  could  be  found  even  in  this 
wild  and  desolate  country? 

And  Siwash  is  only  half  a  day  from  Chicago  by 
parlor  car! 

I  answered  his  questions  as  well  as  I  could.  I 
told  him  how  hard  it  was  to  find  professors  who 
would  n't  get  drunk,  and  how  we  had  to  let  the  men 
and  women  recite  on  alternate  days  after  a  few  of 
the  hen  students  had  been  winged  by  stray  bullets. 
I  had  never  heard  of  Greek,  I  said,  but  I  assured  him 
that  we  studied  Latin  and  that  we  had  a  professor 
to  whom  Caesar  was  as  easy  as  print.  I  told  him  how 
hard  we  worked  to  get  a  little  culture  and  how  many 
of  the  boys  gave  up  their  ponies  altogether,  wore 
store  clothes  and  took  'em  off  when  they  went  to 
bed  all  the  time  they  were  in  college;  but,  try  as  I 
would,  I  could  n't  make  the  answers  as  ridiculous  as 
his  questions.  He  had  me  on  the  mat,  two  points 
down  and  fighting  for  wind  all  the  time.  His  thirst 
for  knowledge  was  wonderful  and  his  objection  to 
believing  what  his  eyes  must  have  told  him  was  still 
more  wonderful.  There  he  was,  half-way  across  the 
country  from  New  York,  and  he  must  have  looked  out 


116  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

of  the  car  windows  on  the  way ;  but  he  had  n't  seen 
a  thing.  I  suppose  it  was  because  he  was  n't  looking 
for  anything  but  Indians. 

All  this  time  Petey  was  circulating  about  the  car, 
taking  aside  members  of  the  Rep  Rho  Betas  and 
talking  to  them  earnestly.  The  Rep  Rho  Betas  were 
the  Sophomore  fraternity  and  were  the  real  demons 
of  the  college.  Each  year  the  outgoing  Sophomore 
class  initiated  the  twenty  Freshmen  who  were  most 
likely  to  meet  the  hangman  on  professional  business 
and  passed  on  the  duties  of  the  fraternity  to  them. 
The  fraternity  spent  its  time  in  pleasure  and  was 
suspected  of  anything  violent  which  happened  in  the 
county.  Petey  was  highbinder  of  the  gang  that  year 
and  was  very  far  gone  in  crime. 

We  were  due  home  about  ten  p.  M.,  and  just  before 
they  untied  the  conductor  Petey  hauled  me  off  to 
one  side. 

"It's  aU  fixed,"  he  said;  "it's  glorious.  We  '11 
just  make  Siwash  into  a  Wild  West  show  for  his 
benefit.  The  Rep  Rho  Betas  will  entertain  him  days 
and  he  '11  stay  at  the  Eta  Pie  House  nights. 
I  'm  putting  the  Eta  Bites  on  now.  You  Ve  got  to 
get  him  off  this  train  before  we  get  to  the  station 
and  keep  him  busy  while  I  arrange  the  program. 
Just  give  me  an  hour  before  you  get  him  there. 
That 'B  all  I  ask." 

Now  I  never  was  a  diplomat,  and  the  job  of  lugging 
a  fat  old  foreigner  around  a  dead  college  town  at 
night  and  trying  to  make  him  think  he  was  in  peril 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  117 

of  his  life  every  minute  was  about  three  numbers 
larger  than  my  size.  I  couldn't  think  of  anything 
else,  so  I  slipped  the  word  to  Ole  Skjarsen  that  Diggs 
was  a  Kiowa  professor  who  was  coming  over  to  get 
notes  on  our  team  and  tip  them  off  to  Muggledorfer 
College.  I  judged  this  would  create  some  hostility 
and  I  was  n't  mistaken.  Ole  began  to  climb  over 
his  fellow-students  and  I  was  just  able  to  beat  him 
to  his  prey. 

"  Come  on,"  I  whispered.  "  Skjarsen  's  on  the 
warpath.  He  says  he  wants  to  bite  up  a  stranger 
and  he  thinks  you  '11  do." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  Reverend  Ponsonby, 
jumping  up  and  grabbing  a  hatbox,  "  you  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  that  he  will  use  violence  ?  " 

"  Violence  nothing !  "  I  yelled,  picking  up  four 
pieces  of  baggage.  "  He  won't  use  violence.  He  '11 
just  eat  you  alive,  that 's  all.  He  's  awful  that  way. 
Come,  quick!  " 

"  Oh,  my  word !  "  said  Diggsey,  grabbing  his  other 
five  bundles  and  piling  out  of  the  car  after  me. 

The  train  was  slowing  down  for  the  crossing  west 
of  Jonesville,  and  I  judged  it  wouldn't  hurt  the 
great  collector  of  Western  local  color  to  roll  a  little. 
So  I  yelled,  "  Jump  for  your  life !  "  He  jumped. 
I  swung  off  and  went  back  till  I  met  him  coming 
along  on  his  shoulder-blades,  with  a  procession  of 
baggage  following  him.  He  was  n't  hurt  a  bit,  but 
he  looked  interesting.  I  brushed  him  off,  cached  the 
baggage  —  all  but  a  suitcase  and  the  hatbox  which  he 


118  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

had  n't  dropped  for  a  minute  —  and  we  began  to 
edge  unostentatiously  into  Jonesville. 

For  an  hour  or  more  we  dodged  around  in  alleys 
and  behind  barns,  while  up  on  the  campus  the  boys 
burned  a  woodshed,  an  old  fruit-stand,  half  a  hun 
dred  drygoods  boxes  and  half  a  mile  of  wooden  side 
walk  by  way  of  celebration.  The  glare  in  the  sky 
was  wild  enough  to  satisfy  any  one,  and  when  some 
of  the  boys  got  the  old  army  muskets  that  the  cadets 
drilled  with  out  of  the  armory  and  banged  away,  I 
was  happy.  But  how  I  did  long  to  be  close  up  to 
that  fire!  It  was  a  cold  night  in  early  November, 
and  as  I  lay  behind  woodsheds,  with  my  teeth  wear 
ing  themselves  out  on  each  other,  I  felt  like  an  early 
Christian  martyr  —  though  it  wasn't  cold  they  suf 
fered  from  as  a  rule.  As  for  the  Reverend  Pubby, 
he  wanted  to  creep  away  to  the  next  town  and  then 
start  for  England  disguised  as  a  chorus  girl,  or  any- 
thing ;  but  I  would  n't  let  him.  We  sneaked  around 
till  nearly  midnight  and  then  crept  up  the  alley  to 
the  Eta  Bita  Pie  House,  wondering  if  we  would  ever 
get  warm  again. 

I  've  seen  some  grand  transformation  scenes,  but 
I  never  saw  anything  more  impressive  than  the  way 
the  Eta  Bita  Pie  House  had  been  done  over  in  two 
hours.  We  always  prided  ourselves  on  our  house. 
It  cost  fifteen  thousand  dollars,  exclusive  of  the 
plumber's  little  hold-up  and  the  Oriental  rugs,  and  it 
was  full  of  polished  floors  and  monogram  silverware 
and  fancy  pottery  and  framed  prints,  and  other 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  119 

bang-up-to-date  incumbrances.  But  in  two  hours 
thirty  boys  can  change  a  whole  lot  of  scenery.  They 
had  spread  dirt  and  sand  over  the  floor,  had  ripped 
out  the  curtains  and  chased  the  pictures.  They  had 
poked  out  a  window-light  or  two,  had  unhung  a  few 
doors,  and  had  filled  the  corners  with  saddles,  old 
clothes,  flour  barrels  and  dogs.  You  never  saw  so 
many  dogs.  The  whole  neighborhood  had  been 
raided.  They  were  hanging  round  everywhere, 
homesick  and  miserable;  and  one  of  the  Freshmen 
had  been  given  the  job  of  cruising  around  and  kick 
ing  them  just  to  keep  them  tuned  up. 

A  dozen  of  the  fellows  were  playing  poker  on  an 
old  board  table  in  the  middle  of  the  big  living-hall 
when  we  came  in.  Their  clothes  were  hand-me-downs 
from  Noah's  time,  and  every  one  of  them  was  out 
raging  some  convention  or  other.  Our  boys  always 
did  go  in  for  amateur  theatricals  pretty  strongly, 
and  the  way  our  most  talented  members  abused  the 
English  language  that  night  when  they  welcomed 
the  Reverend  Pubby  was  as  good  as  a  book. 

"  Proud  ter  meet  you,"  roared  Allie  Bangs,  our 
president,  taking  off  his  hat  and  making  a  low  bow. 
"  Set  right  in  and  enjoy  yourself.  White  chips  is 
a  dime,  limit  is  a  dollar  and  no  gunplay  goes." 

When  Pubby  had  explained  for  the  third  time 
that  he  had  never  had  the  pleasure  of  playing  the 
game,  Bangs  finally  got  on  to  the  curves  in  his  pro 
nunciation  and  understood  him. 

l(  What !      Never    played    poker !  "    he    whooped. 


120  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

"  Hell  a  humpin',  where  was  you  raised  ?  You  sure 
ain't  a  college  man?  Any  lop-eared  galoot  that 
did  n't  play  poker  in  Siwash  would  get  run  out  by 
the  Faculty.  You  ought  to  see  our  president  put  up 
his  pile  and  draw  to  a  pair  of  deuces.  What !  —  a 
Keverend !  I  beg  your  pardon,  friend.  'S  all  right. 
Jest  name  the  game  you  're  strong  at  and  we  '11  try 
to  accommodate  you  later  on.  Here,  you  fellows, 
watch  my  chips  while  I  show  the  Reverend  around 
our  diggin's.  You  nip  one  like  you  did  last  time, 
Turk  Bowman,  and  there  '11  be  the  all-firedest  row 
that  this  shack  has  ever  seed.  Come  right  along, 
Reverend." 

That  tour  was  a  great  triumph  for  Bangs.  We 
always  did  admire  his  acting,  but  he  outdid  him 
self  that  night.  The  rest  of  us  just  kept  quiet  and 
let  him  handle  the  conversation,  and  I  must  say  it 
sounded  desperate  enough  to  be  convincing.  Of 
course  he  slipped  up  occasionally  and  stuck  in  words 
that  would  have  choked  an  ordinary  cow-gentleman, 
but  Diggsey  was  that  dazed  he  would  n't  have  sus 
pected  if  they  had  been  Latin.  I  thought  it  would 
be  more  or  less  of  a  job  to  explain  how  we  were 
living  in  a  fifteen-thousand-dollar  house  instead  of 
dugouts,  but  Bangs  never  hesitated  a  minute.  He 
explained  that  the  house  belonged  to  a  millionaire 
cattle-owner  who  had  built  it  from  reading  a  society 
novel,  and  that  he  let  us  live  in  it  because  he  pre 
ferred  to  live  in  the  barn  with  the  horses.  The  boys 
had  filled  their  rooms  full  of  junk  and  one  of  them 


"  Har's  das  spy!  "  he  yelled.     "  Kill 
him,  fallers-,  he  ban  a  spy!  " 

See  page  132 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  121 

had  even  tied  a  pig  to  his  bed  —  while  the  way 
Bangs  cleared  rubbish  out  of  the  bathtub  and  prom 
ised  to  have  some  water  heated  in  the  morning  was 
convincingly  artless.  He  had  just  finished  explain 
ing  that,  owing  to  the  boiler-plate  in  the  walls,  the 
house  was  practically  Indian  proof,  when  an  awful 
fusillade  of  shots  broke  out  from  the  kitchen.  Bangs 
disappeared  for  a  moment,  gun  in  hand,  and  I 
watched  our  guest  trying  to  make  himself  six  inches 
narrower  and  three  feet  shorter.  I  don't  know  when 
I  ever  saw  a  chap  so  anxious  to  melt  right  down  into 
a  corner  and  be  mistaken  for  a  carpet  tack. 

"  'S  all  right,"  said  Bangs,  clumping  in  cheerfully. 
"  Jest  the  cook  having  another  fit.  We  've  got  a  cook," 
he  explained,  "who  gets  loaded  up  'bout  oncet  a 
month  so  full  that  he  cries  pure  alcohol,  and  when 
he  gits  that  way  he  insists  on  trying  to  shoot  cock 
roaches  with  his  gun.  He  ain't  never  killed  one,  but 
he  's  gotten  two  Chinamen  and  a  mule,  and  we  Ve 
got  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  He  's  tied  up  in  the  cellar 
a-swearin'  that  if  he  gits  loose  he  '11  come  upstairs 
and  furnish  material  for  nineteen  fancy  funerals 
with  silver  name-plates.  But,  don't  you  worry, 
Reverend.  He  can't  hurt  a  fly  'less  he  gits  loose. 
Here  's  your  room.  That  boss  blanket  on  the  cot 's 
brand  new ;  towel 's  in  the  hall  and  you  '11  find  a 
comb  somewheres  round.  Just  you  turn  in  if  you 
feel  like  it,  and  when  you  hear  Wall-Eye  Denton  and 
Pete  Pearsall  trying  to  massacre  each  other  in  the 
next  room  it 's  time  to  git  up." 


122  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Pubby  said  he  would  retire  at  once,  and  we  left 
him  looking  scared  but  relieved.  I  '11  bet  he  sat 
up  all  night  taking  notes  and  expecting  things  to 
happen.  We  sat  up,  too,  but  for  a  different  reason. 
You  can't  imagine  how  much  work  it  took  to  get  that 
house  running  backward.  And  it  was  an  awful  job 
to  do  the  Wild  West  stunt,  too.  We  sat  and  criticised 
each  other's  dialect  and  actions  until  there  were  as 
many  as  three  free  fights  going  on  at  once.  One  man 
favored  the  Bret  Harte  style  of  bad  man;  another 
adhered  to  the  Henry  Wallace  Phillips  brand ;  while 
still  another  insisted  on  following  the  Remington 
school.  We  compromised  on  a  mixture  and  then 
spent  the  rest  of  the  night  learning  how  to  -forget 
our  table  manners. 

The  result  was  magnificent.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  Reverend  Pubby's  pained  but  fascinated  ex 
pression  as  he  sat  at  breakfast  the  next  morning  and 
watched  thirty  hungry  savages  shoveling  plain,  un 
varnished  grub  into  their  faces.  The  breakfast 
couldn't  have  gone  better  if  we  had  had  a  dress 
rehearsal.  Our  guest  could  n't  eat.  He  was  afraid 
to  talk.  He  just  held  on  to  his  chair,  and  we  could 
see  him  stiffen  with  horror  every  time  some  eater 
would  rise  up  so  as  to  increase  his  reach  and  spear 
a  piece  of  bread  six  feet  away  with  his  fork.  The 
breakfast  was  a  disgusting  display  of  Poland-China 
manners  and  was  successful  in  every  particular. 

We  confidently  expected  Petey  Simmons  to  turn 
up  during  the  meal  and  tell  us  what  to  do  next. 


CoUeges  While  You  Wait  123 

He  had  spent  the  night  with  his  odoriferous  Rep 
Rho  Beta  brothers  cooking  up  the  rest  of  the  plot 
and  had  promised  to  run  up  at  breakfast.  But  no 
Petey  appeared.  We  strung  the  meal  along  as  far 
as  we  could  toward  dinner  and  then  took  up  the 
job  of  keeping  the  Reverend  Pubby  contented  and 
in  the  house  until  the  life-saving  crew  arrived.  Did 
you  ever  try  to  lie  all  morning  with  a  slow-speed 
imagination  ?  That 's  what  we  had  to  do.  We  ex 
plained  to  Pubby  that  the  students  caroused  all  night 
and  never  came  to  college  in  the  morning;  we  told 
him  it  was  against  the  rules  for  strangers  to  go  on 
the  campus  in  the  morning;  we  told  him  it  was 
dangerous  to  go  out-of-doors  because  of  the  Alfalfa 
Delts,  who  were  suspected  of  being  cannibals;  we 
told  him  forty  thousand  things,  most  of  which  con 
tradicted  each  other.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  the 
boys  who  kindly  started  a  fight  whenever  his  rev 
erence  had  tangled  Bangs  and  me  up  hopelessly  on 
some  question  we  could  n't  have  survived  the  in 
quisition.  As  it  was,  I  perspired  about  a  barrel 
and  my  brain  ached  for  a  week. 

We  went  to  lunch  and  put  on  another  exhibition  of 
free-hand  feeding,  getting  more  grumpy  and  disgusted 
every  minute.  We  were  all  ready  to  yell  for  mercy 
and  put  on  our  civilized  clothes  when  we  heard  a  ter 
rific  riot  from  outside.  Then  Petey  came  in. 

If  there  ever  was  a  sure-enough  Wild  Westerner 
it  was  Petey  that  afternoon.  He  had  on  the  whole 
works  —  two-acre  hat,  red  woolen  shirt,  spurs,  and 


124  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

even  chaps  —  nice  hairy  ones.  I  discovered  next  day 
that  he  had  swiped  my  fine  bearskin  rug  and  cut 
it  up  to  make  them.  In  his  belt  he  had  a  revolver 
which  couldn't  have  been  less  than  two  feet  long. 
Petey  was  a  little  fellow,  with  one  of  those  nineteen- 
sizes-too-large  voices,  and  when  he  turned  the  full 
organ  on  you  Would  have  thought  old  Mount  Vesuvius 
had  wakened  up  and  rumbled  into  the  room. 

"  Howdy,  Reverend,"  he  thundered.  "  We  jest 
come  along  to  take  you  on  a  little  ride  over  to 
college.  Got  a  nice  gentle  cow-pony  out  here.  She 
bucks  as  easy  as  a  rockin'-horse.  Don't  mind  about 
your  clothes.  Just  hop  right  on.  The  boys  is  some 
anxious  to  get  along,  it  being  most  classtime." 

We  followed  the  two  of  them  out  to  the  back  yard. 
There  were  seven  Rep  Rho  Betas  on  seven  moth- 
eaten  ponies  which  they  had  dug  up  from  goodness 
knows  where.  The  rigs  they  had  on  represented 
each  fellow's  idea  of  what  a  cowboy  looked  like, 
and  would  have  made  a  real  cowpuncher  hang  him 
self  for  shame.  Petey  confessed  afterward  that,  of 
all  the  Rep  Rho  Betas,  only  seven  had  ever  been  on 
a  horse,  and,  of  these,  three  kept  him  in  agony  for 
fear  they  would  fall  off  and  compel  him  to  explain 
that  they  were  on  the  verge  of  delirium  tremens. 
They  were  a  weird-looking  bunch,  but,  gee !  they  were 
fierce.  Pirates  would  have  been  kittens  beside  them. 

I  guess  the  Reverend  Pubby  had  never  done  much 
in  the  Centaur  line,  for  he  came  very  near  balking 
entirely  right  there.  It  took  us  five  minutes  to 


bfi     *> 


Colleges  While  You  Wait  125 

explain  that  there  was  no  other  way  of  getting  out  to 
Siwash  and  that  the  Faculty  would  take  it  as  a 
personal  insult  if  he  didn't  come.  We  also  had  to 
explain  how  disagreeable  the  Faculty  was  when  it 
was  insulted.  And  then  after  he  had  consented  we 
spent  another  five  minutes  hoisting  him  aboard  a 
prehistoric  plug  and  telling  him  how  to  stick  on. 
Then  the  line  filed  out  through  the  alley  with  a  regu 
lar  ghost-dance  yell,  while  we  detained  Petey.  We 
were  about  to  massacre  him  for  leaving  us  to  sweat  all 
morning,  but  we  forgot  all  about  it  when  Petey  told 
us  what  he  had  been  doing.  He  admitted  that,  in 
order  not  to  annoy  the  profs  and  cause  unnecessary 
questions,  he  had  taken  the  liberty  to  build  a  tem 
porary  Siwash  College  for  this  special  occasion. 

Yes,  sir;  nothing  less  than  that.  You  remember 
Dillpickle  Academy,  the  extinct  college  in  the  west 
part  of  town?  It  had  been  closed  for  years  because 
the  only  remaining  student  had  gotten  lonesome. 
But  most  of  the  equipment  was  still  there,  and 
Petey  had  borrowed  it  of  the  caretaker  for  one  day 
only,  promising  to  give  it  back  as  good  as  new  in  the 
morning.  Petey  could  have  borrowed  the  great  seal 
away  from  the  Department  of  State.  He  and  his 
Rep  Rho  Betas  had  let  a  lot  of  students  into  the 
deal,  had  been  working  all  morning,  and  Siwash  was 
ready  for  business  at  the  new  stand. 

We  wanted  to  measure  Petey  for  a  medal  then 
and  there,  but  he  refused,  being  needed  on  the  firing- 
line.  He  rode  off  and  we  made  a  grand  rush  for 


126  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

the  new  Siwash  College  —  special  one-day  stand, 
benefit  performance.  We  got  there  before  the  es 
corting  committee  and  had  a  fine  view  of  the  grand 
entry.  The  Reverend  Pubby  had  fallen  off  four 
times,  and  the  last  mile  he  had  led  his  horse.  It  was 
a  sagacious  scheme  bringing  him  along,  as  none  of  the 
others  had  a  chance  to  exhibit  their  extremely  sketchy 
horsemanship  in  anything  better  than  a  mile-an- 
hour  gait. 

Old  Dillpickle  Academy  was  busier  than  it  had 
ever  been  in  real  life  when  we  got  there.  Fully  fifty 
students  were  on  the  scene.  They  were  decked  out 
in  cowboy  clothes,  hand-me-downs,  big  straw  hats, 
blankets  —  any  old  thing.  One  thing  that  impressed 
me  was  the  number  of  books  they  were  carrying. 
At  Siwash  we  always  refused  to  carry  books  except 
when  absolutely  necessary.  It  seemed  too  affected 
—  as  if  you  were  trying  to  learn  something.  But 
out  there  at  near-Siwash  every  man  had  at  least 
six  books.  I  saw  geographies,  spellers,  Ella  Wheeler 
Wilcox's  poems,  Science  and  Health,  and  the  Con 
gressional  Record.  Learning  was  just  naturally  ram 
pant  out  there.  Students  were  studying  on  the  fence. 
They  were  walking  up  and  down  the  campus 
"  boning  "  furiously.  They  were  even  studying  in 
the  trees.  You  get  fifty  college  boys  to  turn  actors 
for  a  day  and  you  will  see  some  mighty  mixed 
results.  There  was  "  Bay  "  Sanderson,  for  instance. 
"  Bay's  "  idea  of  being  a  wild  and  Western  student 
was  to  sit  on  the  front  gate  with  a  long  knife  stuck 


CoUeges  While  You  Wait  127 

in  his  belt  and  read  detective  stories.  He  did  it  all 
through  the  performance,  and  whenever  the  guest 
was  led  past  him  he  would  turn  the  book  down  care 
fully,  pull  the  knife  out  of  his  belt  and  whoop  three 
times  as  solemn  as  a  judge. 

You  never  saw  any  one  so  interested  as  the  Rever 
end  Ponsonby  Diggs.  His  eyes  stuck  out  like  incan 
descent  globes.  He  had  been  pretty  well  jolted  up, 
and  he  yelled  in  a  low,  polite  way  every  time  he 
made  a  quick  movement,  but  his  thirst  for  informa 
tion  was  still  vigorous.  As  head  host  Petey  was 
pumpee,  and  he  was  always  four  laps  ahead  of 
the  job. 

"  Eh,  I  say,"  said  Pubby,  after  surveying  the 
scene  for  a  few  minutes.  "  This  is  all  very  inter 
esting,  you  know.  But  what  a  little  place !  " 

"  Hell,  Reverend,"  said  Petey  emphatically. 
"  she 's  the  biggest  school  in  the  world." 

The  Reverend  was  a  man  of  guile.  He  did  n't 
bat  an  eye. 

"  How  many  students  has  the  college  ? "  he  in 
quired. 

"  We  've  got  a  hundred,  all  studying  books  and 
learning  things,"  said  Petey  proudly. 

"  Reahly,  now  ?  "  said  the  Reverend ;  "  I  say, 
reahly  ?  And  these  cows !  Might  I  ask  if  these  cows 
are  a  part  of  the  college  ? " 

"  Sure  thing,"  said  Petey.  "  Sophomore  roping 
class  uses  'em.  Great  class  to  watch." 

"  I  say  now,  this  is  extraordinary,"  said  the  Rev- 


128  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

erend.  "You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  tie  up 
cows?" 

"  Hope  'em  and  tie  'em  and  brand  'em,"  said 
Petey.  "  What 's  college  for  if  it  ain't  to  learn 
you  things  ? " 

"  I  say  now,  this  is  extraordinary,"  said  the  Rev 
erend.  I  gave  him  four  more  "  extraordinaries " 
before  I  did  something  violent  He  'd  used  two  hun 
dred  that  morning.  "  Might  I  see  the  class  at 
work  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Petey  did  n't  even  hesitate.  "  Sorry,  Reverend," 
says  he.  "  But  the  Professor  of  Roping  and  Brand 
ing  has  been  drunk  for  a  week.  Class  ain't  work 
ing  now." 

The  college  bell  tapped  three  times.  "  That 's 
cleaning-up  bell,"  said  Petey. 

"  Oh,  I  say  now,"  said  the  Reverend,  hauling  out 
his  notebook.  "  What 's  cleaning-up  bell  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  clean  up  the  college,"  said  Petey.  "  We 
clean  it  up  once  a  week.  With  the  fellows  riding 
their  horses  into  class  and  tracking  mud  and  clay 
in,  and  eating  lunches  and  stuff  around,  it  gets 
pretty  messy  before  the  end  of  the  week.  We  make 
the  Freshmen  clean  it  out.  There  they  go  now." 

A  dozen  "  supes  "  filed  slowly  into  the  building 
with  brooms  and  shovels.  Pubby  could  n't  have 
looked  more  interested  if  they  had  been  crowned 
heads  of  Europe. 

Just  then  a  fine  assortment  of  sounds  broke  out  in 
the  old  building.  The  doors  burst  open  and  a  young 


CoUeges  While  You  Wait  129 

red-headed  Mick  from  the  seventh  ward  near  by  rode 
a  pony  down  the  steps  and  away  for  dear  life.  Be 
hind  him  came  a  double-sized  gent  with  yard-wide 
mustaches.  He  was  dressed  in  a  red  shirt,  overalls 
and  firearms.  He  was  a  walking  museum  of  weap 
ons.  Petey  told  me  afterward  that  he  had  borrowed 
him  from  the  roundhouse  near  by,  and  that  for  a 
box  of  cigars  he  had  kindly  consented  to  play  the 
part  of  an  irritable  arsenal  for  one  afternoon  only. 

"  That  'B  the  janitor,"  said  Petey  in  an  awestruck 
whisper.  "  Get  behind  a  tree,  quick.  He  's  sure 
some  vexed.  He  hates  to  have  the  boys  ride  their 
ponies  into  classroom." 

We  got  a  fine  view  of  the  janitor  as  he  swept  past. 
He  was  a  regular  volcano  in  pants.  Never  have  I 
heard  the  English  language  more  richly  embossed 
with  profanity.  Firing  a  fat  locomotive  up  the  grades 
around  Siwash  with  bad  coal  gives  a  man  great 
talent  in  expression.  We  listened  to  him  with  awe. 
Pubby  was  entranced.  He  asked  me  if  it  would  be 
safe  to  take  anything  down  in  his  notebook,  and  when 
I  promised  to  protect  him  he  wrote  three  pages. 

By  this  time  the  campus  was  filling  up.  Word 
had  gotten  around  the  real  college  that  the  big  show 
of  the  season  was  being  pulled  off  up  at  Dillpickle, 
and  the  students  were  arriving  by  the  dozen.  We 
were  getting  pretty  nervous.  The  new  arrivals 
were  n't  coached,  and  sooner  or  later  they  were  bound 
to  give  the  snap  away.  We  decided  to  introduce  our 
guest  to  the  president.  If  we  could  keep  things 


130  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

quiet  another  half  hour  all  would  be  safe,  Petey 
assured  us. 

We  took  the  Reverend  up  to  the  main  entrance, 
Petey's  thinker  working  like  a  well-oiled  machine 
all  the  way.  He  pointed  out  the  tree  where  they 
hanged  a  horse  thief,  and  Pubby  made  us  wait  till 
he  had  gotten  a  leaf  from  it.  The  Senior  classes  at 
Dillpickle  had  had  the  custom  of  hauling  boulders 
on  to  the  campus  as  graduation  presents.  Petey 
explained  that  each  boulder  marked  the  resting 
place  of  some  student  whose  career  had  been  fore 
shortened  accidentally,  and  he  described  several  of 
the  tragedies  —  invented  them  right  off  the  reel. 
Pubby  was  so  interested  he  did  n't  care  who  saw  his 
notebook.  When  Petey  told  him  how  a  pack  of  tim 
ber  wolves  had  besieged  the  school  for  nine  days  and 
nights,  four  years  before,  he  almost  cried  because 
there  was  no  photograph  of  the  scene  handy.  We 
had  to  promise  him  a  wolf  skin  to  comfort  him. 

Dillpickle  Academy  was  a  plain  old  brick  building, 
with  one  of  those  cupolas  which  were  so  popular 
among  schools  and  colleges  forty  years  ago.  I  don't 
know  just  what  mysterious  effect  a  cupola  has  on 
education,  but  it  was  considered  necessary  at  that 
time.  In  front  of  the  building  was  a  wide  stone 
porch.  Inside  we  could  see  half  a  dozen  dogs  and 
a  horse.  Pubby  looked  a  bushel  of  exclamation 
points  when  Petey  explained  that  they  belonged  to 
the  president.  He  looked  a  lot  more  when  he  saw 
a  counter  with  a  fine  assortment  of  chewing  tobacco 


CoUeges  While  You  Wait  131 

and  pipes  on  it.  That,  Petey  whispered  to  me,  was 
his  masterpiece.  He  had  borrowed  the  whole  thing 
from  a  corner  grocery  store. 

Petey  had  just  put  his  eye  to  the  window  of  the 
president's  room,  ostensibly  to  find  out  whether 
Prexy  was  in  a  good  humor  and  in  reality  to  find  out 
whether  Kennedy,  an  old  grad  who  had  consented  to 
play  the  part,  was  on  duty,  when  one  of  the  boys 
hurried  up  and  grabbed  me. 

"  Just  evaporate  as  fast  as  you  can,"  he  whispered ; 
"  there  are  six  cops  on  the  way  out.  They  're  going  to 
pinch  the  whole  bunch  of  us." 

Wow  this  was  a  fine  predicament  for  a  young  and 
promising  college  —  to  be  arrested  by  six  lowly  cops 
on  its  own  campus,  in  the  act  of  showing  a  distin 
guished  visitor  how  it  ran  the  earth,  and  was  par 
ticular  Hades  with  the  trigger-finger!  Bangs  was 
showing  Pubby  the  window  through  which  the  Pro 
fessor  of  Arithmetic  had  thrown  him  the  term  before, 
and  I  told  Petey.  He  sat  down  and  cried. 

"  After  all  this  work  and  just  as  we  had  it 
cinched !  "  he  moaned.  "  I  '11  quit  school  to-morrow 
and  devote  my  life  to  poisoning  policemen.  This  has 
made  an  anarchist  of  me." 

There  was  nothing  to  do.  We  could  n't  very  well 
explain  that  the  college  would  now  have  to  run  away 
and  hide  because  some  enthusiastic  Freshman  had 
fired  a  horse-pistol  on  the  streets  of  Jonesville.  I 
looked  at  the  crowd  of  fantastic  students  getting 
ready  to  bolt  for  the  fence.  I  looked  at  our  victim, 


132  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

fairly  punching  words  into  his  notebook.  It  was  the 
brightest  young  dream  that  was  ever  busted  by  a  fat 
loafer  in  brass  buttons.  Then  I  saw  Ole  Skjarsen 
and  had  my  one  big  inspiration. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  said,  rushing  over  to  Pubby, 
"  but  you  '11  have  to  mosey  right  out  of  here. 
There  's  Ole  Skjarsen,  and  he  looks  ugly." 

"Oh,  my  word!"  said  Pubby;  he  remembered 
Ole  from  the  night  before. 

"  Right  around  the  building !  "  yelled  Petey,  grab 
bing  the  cue.  Naturally  Ole  heard  him  and  saw 
those  whiskers.  "  Har  's  das  spy ! "  he  yelled. 
"  Kill  him,  f allers ;  he  ban  a  spy !  "  We  dashed 
around  the  building,  Ole  following  us.  And  then, 
because  the  cops  had  arrived  at  the  front  gate,  the 
whole  mob  thundered  after  us. 

Well,  sir,  you  never  saw  a  more  successful  race 
in  your  life.  There  were  no  less  than  a  hundred 
Siwash  students  behind  us,  and,  though  no  one  but 
Ole  Skjarsen  had  any  interest  in  us,  they  were  all 
trying  to  break  the  sprint  record  in  our  direction, 
it  being  the  line  of  least  resistance.  And,  say!  We 
certainly  had  misjudged  the  Reverend  Ponsonby 
Diggs.  He  may  have  been  fat,  but  how  he  could 
run!  His  work  was  phenomenal.  I  think  he  must 
have  been  on  a  track  team  himself  at  some  earlier  part 
of  his  career,  for  the  way  he  steamed  away  from 
the  gang  would  have  reminded  you  of  the  Lusitania 
racing  the  Statue  of  Liberty.  He  lost  his  cap.  He 
shed  his  long  black  coat.  He  rolled  over  the  fence 


2 
3 
o 


CoUeges  While  You  Wait  133 

at  the  rear  of  the  campus  without  even  hesitating, 
and  the  last  we  saw  of  him  he  was  going  down  the 
road  out  of  Jonesville  into  the  west,  his  legs  revolv 
ing  in  a  blue  haze.  Even  if  we  had  wanted  to  stop 
him,  we  could  n't  have  caught  him.  And  besides, 
Ole  caught  Petey  and  me  just  outside  of  the  campus 
and  we  had  to  do  some  twenty-nine-story-tall  ex 
plaining  to  keep  from  getting  punched  for  harboring 
spies.  No  one  had  thought  to  put  him  next  to  the 
game. 

That  all?  Goodness,  no!  We  cleaned  up  for  a 
week  and  had  been  so  good  that  the  Faculty  had 
about  decided  that  nothing  had  happened  when  the 
Reverend  Ponsonby  Diggs  appeared  in  Jonesville 
again.  He  came  with  a  United  States  marshal  for 
a  bodyguard,  too.  He  had  footed  it  to  the  next 
town,  it  seems,  and  had  wired  the  nearest  British 
consul  that  he  had  been  attacked  by  savages  at 
Siwash  College  and  robbed  of  all  his  baggage.  They 
say  he  demanded  battleships  or  a  Hague  conference, 
or  something  of  the  sort,  and  that  the  consul's  office 
asked  a  Government  officer  to  go  out  and  pacify 
him.  They  stepped  off  the  train  at  the  Union  Station 
and  went  right  up  to  college  —  only  four  blocks 
away. 

Petey  and  I  remained  considerably  invisible,  but 
the  boys  tell  me  that  the  look  on  the  Reverend's  face 
when  he  arrived  at  the  real  Siwash  was  worth  per 
petuating  in  bronze.  He  went  up  the  fine  old 
avenue,  past  the  fine  new  buildings,  in  a  daze;  and 


134  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

when  our  good  old  Prexy,  who  had  him  skinned 
forty  ways  for  dignity,  shook  hands  with  him  and 
handed  him  a  little  talk  that  was  a  saturated  solution 
of  Latin,  he  could  n't  even  say  "  most  extraordinary." 
You  can  realize  how  far  gone  he  was. 

Some  of  the  boys  got  hold  of  the  marshal  that  day 
and  told  him  the  story.  He  laughed  from  four  p.  M. 
until  midnight,  with  only  three  stops  for  refresh 
ments.  The  Reverend  Pubby  Diggs  stayed  three 
days  as  the  guest  of  the  Faculty  and  he  didn't  get 
up  nerve  enough  in  all  that  time  to  talk  business. 
We  saw  him  at  chapel  where  he  could  n't  see  us,  and 
he  looked  like  a  man  who  had  suddenly  discovered, 
while  falling  out  of  his  aeroplane,  that  somebody 
had  removed  the  earth  and  had  left  no  address  be 
hind.  His  baggage  mysteriously  appeared  at  his 
room  in  the  hotel  on  the  first  night,  and  when  he 
left  he  had  n't  recovered  consciousness  sufiiciently 
to  inquire  where  it  came  from.  I  think  he  went 
right  back  to  England  when  he  left  Siwash,  and 
I  '11  bet  that  by  now  he  has  almost  concluded  that 
some  one  had  been  playing  a  joke  on  him.  You  give 
those  Englishmen  time  and  they  will  catch  on  to 
almost  anything. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GEEEK  DOUBLE  CEOSS 

SUFFERING  bear-cats !  Say !  excuse  me  while 
I  take  a  long  rest,  Jim.  I  need  it.  I  've  just 
read  a  piece  of  information  in  this  letter  that  makes 
me  tired  all  over. 

What  is  it?  Oh,  just  another  variety  of  compe 
tition  smothered  with  a  gentlemanly  agreement  — 
that 's  all ;  another  bright-eyed  little  trust  formed 
and  another  readjustment  of  affairs  on  a  business 
basis.  We  old  fellows  needn't  break  our  necks  to 
get  back  to  Siwash  and  the  frat  this  fall,  they  write 
me.  Of  course  they'll  be  delighted  to  see  us  and 
all  that ;  but  there 's  no  burning  need  for  us  and  we 
need  n't  jump  any  jobs  to  report  in  time  to  put 
the  brands  on  the  Freshmen  and  rescue  them  from 
the  noisome  Alfalfa  Belts  and  Sigh  Whoops  —  be 
cause  there  is  n't  going  to  be  any  rescuing  this  fall. 

They  've  had  an  agreement  at  Siwash.  They  're 
going  to  approach  the  Freshies  under  strict  rules. 
No  parties.  No  dinners  at  the  houses.  No  abduc 
tions.  No  big,  tall  talk  about  pledging  to-night  or 
staggering  through  a  twilight  life  to  a  frowzy-headed 
and  unimportant  old  age  in  some  bum  bunch.  All 


136  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

done  away  with.  Everything  nice  and  orderly. 
Freshman  arrives.  You  take  his  name  and  address. 
Call  on  him,  attended  by  referees.  Maintain  a  gen 
eral  temperature  of  not  more  than  sixty-five  when 
you  meet  him  on  the  campus.  Buy  him  one  ten-cent 
cigar  during  the  fall  and  introduce  him  to  one  girl 
—  age,  complexion  and  hypnotic  power  to  be  care 
fully  regulated  by  the  rushing  committee.  Then 
you  send  him  a  little  engraved  invitation  to  amalga 
mate  with  you;  and  when  he  answers,  per  the  self- 
addressed  envelope  inclosed,  you  are  to  love  him  like 
a  brother  for  the  next  three  and  a  half  years.  Gee ! 
how  that  makes  me  ache ! 

Think  of  it !  And  at  old  Siwash,  too !  —  Siwash, 
where  we  never  considered  a  pledge  safe  until  we 
had  him  tied  up  in  a  back  room,  with  our  colors 
on  him  and  a  guard  around  the  house !  That  settles 
me.  I  've  always  yearned  to  go  back  and  cavort  over 
the  campus  in  the  fall  when  college  opened;  but 
not  for  me  no  more!  Why,  if  I  went  back  there 
and  got  into  the  rushing  game,  first  thing  I  knew 
they  'd  have  me  run  up  before  a  pan-Hellenic  coun 
cil,  charged  with  giving  an  eligible  Freshman  more 
than  two  fingers  when  I  shook  hands  with  him; 
and  I  'd  be  ridden  out  of  town  on  a  rail  for  rush 
ing  in  an  undignified  manner. 

Bushing?  What's  rushing?  Oh,  yes;  I  forgot 
that  you  never  participated  in  that  delicious  form 
of  insanity  known  as  a  fall  term  in  college.  Rush 
ing  is  a  cross  between  proposing  to  a  girl  and  abduct- 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  137 

ing  a  coyote.  Rushing  a  man  for  a  frat  is  trying 
to  make  him  believe  that  to  belong  to  it  is  joy  and 
inspiration,  and  to  belong  to  any  other  means  misery 
and  an  early  tomb;  that  all  the  best  men  in  college 
either  belong  to  your  frat  or  couldn't  get  in;  that 
you  're  the  best  fellows  on  earth,  and  that  you  're 
crazy  to  have  him,  and  that  he  is  a  coming  Senator; 
that  you  can't  live  without  him ;  that  the  other  gang 
can't  appreciate  him ;  that  you  never  ask  men  twice ; 
that  you  don't  care  much  for  him  anyway,  and  that 
you  are  just  as  likely  as  not  to  withdraw  the  spike 
any  minute  if  you  should  happen  to  get  tired  of  the 
cut  of  his  trousers;  that  your  crowd  can  make  him 
class  president  and  the  other  crowds  can  make  him 
fine  mausoleums ;  that  you  love  him  like  real  brothers 
and  that  he  has  already  bound  himself  in  honor  to 
pledge  —  and  that  if  he  does  n't  he  will  regret  it  all 
his  life;  and,  besides,  you  will  punch  his  head  if 
he  doesn't  put  on  the  colors.  That's  rushing  for 
you. 

What 's  my  crowd  ?  Why,  the  Eta  Bita  Pie,  of 
course.  Could  n't  you  tell  that  from  my  skyscraper 
brow?  We  Eta  Bites  are  so  much  better  than  any 
other  frat  that  we  break  down  and  cry  now  and 
then  when  we  think  of  the  poor  chaps  who  can't  be 
long  to  us.  We  're  bigger,  grander,  nobler  and 
tighter  about  the  chest  than  any  other  gang.  We  've 
turned  out  more  Senators,  Congressmen,  Supreme 
Justices,  near-Presidents,  captains  of  industry,  for 
eign  ambassadors  and  football  captains  than  any  two 


138  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

of  them.  We  own  more  f rat  houses,  win  more  college 
elections,  know  more  about  neckties  and  girls,  wear 
louder  vests  and  put  more  cross-hatch  effects  on  our 
neophytes  than  any  three  of  them.  We  're  so  im 
measurably  ahead  of  everything  with  a  Greek-letter 
name  that  every  Freshman  of  taste  and  discrimina 
tion  turns  down  everything  else  and  waits  until  we 
crook  our  little  finger  at  him.  Of  course,  sometimes 
we  make  a  mistake  and  ask  some  fellow  that  is  n't 
a  man  of  taste  and  discrimination;  he  proves  it 
by  going  into  some  other  frat;  and  that,  of  course, 
keeps  all  the  men  of  poor  judgment  out  of  our  gang 
and  puts  them  in  the  others.  Regular  automatic  dis 
pensation  of  Providence,  isn't  it? 

It 's  been  a  long  time  since  I  had  a  chance  to 
gather  with  the  brethren  back  at  Siwash  and  agree 
with  them  how  glorious  we  are,  but  this  note  brings 
it  all  back.  My !  how  I  'd  like  this  minute  to  go 
back  about  ten  years  and  cluster  around  our  big  grate 
fire,  which  used  to  make  the  Delta  Kaps  so  crazy 
with  envy.  Those  were  the  good  old  days  when 
we  came  back  to  college  in  the  fall,  looked  over 
the  haycrop  in  the  Freshman  class,  picked  out  the 
likeliest  seed  repositories,  and  tthen  proceeded  to 
carve  them  out  from  the  clutches  of  a  round  dozen 
rival  frats,  each  one  crazy  to  get  a  spike  into  every 
new  student  who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  president 
of  the  Senior  class  and  an  authority  on  cotillons 
some  day.  No  namby-pamby,  drop-three-and-carry- 
one  crochet  effects  about  our  rushing  those  days! 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  139 

We  just  stood  up  on  our  hind  legs  and  scrapped  it 
out.  For  concentrated,  triple-distilled,  double-X  ex 
citement,  the  first  three  weeks  of  college,  with  every 
frat  breaking  its  collective  neck  to  get  a  habeas 
corpus  on  the  same  six  or  eight  men,  had  a  suffra 
gette  riot  in  the  House  of  Parliament  beaten  down 
to  a  dove-coo. 

There  was  nothing  that  made  us  love  a  Freshman 
so  hard  as  to  have  about  six  other  frats  after  him. 
I  've  seen  women  buy  hats  the  same  way.  They  've 
got  to  beat  some  other  woman  to  a  hat  before  they 
can  really  appreciate  it.  And  when  we  could  swat 
half  a  dozen  rival  frats  over  the  heart  by  waltzing 
a  good-looking  young  chap  down  the  walk  to  chapel 
with  our  colors  on  his  coat,  and  could  watch  ihem 
turning  green  and  purple  and  clawing  for  air  — 
well,  I  guess  it  beat  getting  elected  to  Congress  or 
marrying  an  heiress-apparent  for  pure,  unadulter 
ated,  unspeckled  joy! 

Competition  was  getting  mighty  scarce  in  the 
country  even  then.  There  were  understandings  be 
tween  railroad  magnates  and  beef  kings  and  biscuit 
makers  —  and  even  the  ministers  had  a  scale  of 
wedding  fees.  But  competition  had  a  happy  home 
on  our  campus.  About  the  best  we  had  been  able 
to  do  had  been  to  agree  not  to  burn  down  each  other's 
frat  houses  while  we  were  haltering  the  Freshmen. 
I  Ve  seen  nine  frats,  with  a  total  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  members,  sitting  up  nights  for  a  week  at  a  time 
working  out  plans  to  despoil  each  other  of  a  runty 


140  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

little  fellow  in  a  pancake  hat,  whose  only  accomplish 
ment  was  playing  the  piano  with  his  feet.  One  frat 
wanted  him  and  that  started  the  others. 

Of  course  we  'd  have  got  along  better  if  we  'd  put 
the  whole  Freshman  class  in  cold  storage  until  we  could 
have  found  out  who  the  good  men  were  and  who  the 
spoiled  fruit  might  be.  We  were  just  as  likely  to 
fall  in  love  with  a  suit  of  clothes  as  with  a  future 
class  orator.  We  took  in  one  man  once  because  he 
bought  a  pair  of  patent-leather  tan  shoes  in  his 
Junior  year.  We  argued  that,  if  he  had  the  nerve 
to  wear  the  things  to  his  Y.  M.  C.  A.  meetings,  there 
must  be  some  originality  in  him  after  all  —  and  we 
took  a  chance.  We  won.  But  it 's  a  risky  business. 
Once  five  frats  rushed  a  fellow  for  a  month  because 
of  the  beautiful  clothes  he  wore  —  and  just  after  the 
victorious  bunch  had  initiated  him  a  clothing  house 
came  down  on  the  young  man  and  took  the  whole 
outfit.  You  can't  always  tell  at  first  sight.  But 
then,  I  don't  know  but  that  college  fraternities  exer 
cise  as  much  care  and  judgment  in  picking  brothers 
as  women  do  in  picking  husbands.  Many  a  woman 
Jias  married  a  fine  mustache  or  a  bunch  of  noble 
clothes  and  has  taken  the  thing  that  wore  them  on 
spec.  That 's  one  more  than  we  ever  did.  You  could 
fool  us  with  clothes;  but  the  man  who  came  to 
Siwash  with  a  mustache  had  to  flock  by  himself. 
He  and  his  whiskers  were  considered  to  be  enough 
company  for  each  other. 

There  were  plenty  of  frats  in  Siwash  to  make 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  141 

things  interesting  in  the  fall.  There  were  the  Alfalfa 
Delts,  who  had  a  house  in  the  same  block  with  us 
and  were  snobbish  just  because  they  had  initiated 
a  locomotive  works,  two  railroads  and  a  pickle  fac 
tory.  Then  there  were  the  Sigh  Whoopsilons,  who 
got  to  Siwash  first  and  who  regarded  the  rest  of  us 
with  the  same  kindly  tolerance  with  which  the 
Indians  regarded  Daniel  Boone.  And  there  were 
the  Chi  Yis,  who  fought  society  hard  and  always 
had  their  picture  taken  for  the  college  annual  in 
dress  suits.  Many 's  the  time  I  've  loaned  my  dress 
suit  to  drape  over  some  green  young  Chi  Yi,  so 
that  the  annual  picture  could  show  an  unbroken  row 
of  open-faced  vests.  And  there  were  the  Shi  Delts, 
who  were  a  bold,  bad  bunch;  and  the  Fli  Gammas, 
who  were  good,  pious  boys,  about  as  exciting  as  a 
smooth-running  prayer-meeting;  and  the  Delta 
Kappa  Sonofaguns,  who  got  every  political  office 
either  by  electing  a  member  or  initiating  one;  and 
the  Delta  Flushes;  and  the  Mu  Kow  Moos;  the 
Sigma  Numerous;  and  two  or  three  others  that  we 
did  n't  lie  awake  nights  worrying  about.  Every  one 
of  these  bunches  had  one  burning  ambition  —  that 
was  to  initiate  the  very  best  men  in  the  Freshman 
class  every  fall.  That  made  it  necessary  for  us,  in 
order  to  maintain  our  proud  position,  to  disappoint 
each  one  of  them  every  year  and  to  make  ourselves 
about  as  popular  as  the  directors  of  a  fresh-air  and 
drinking-water  trust. 

Of  course  we  always  disappointed  them.    Would  n't 


142  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

admit  it  if  we  did  n't.  But,  holy  mackerel !  what  a 
job  it  was!  Herding  a  bunch  of  green  and  timid 
and  nervous  and  contrary  youngsters  past  all  the 
temptations  and  pitfalls  and  confidence  games  and 
blarneyfests  put  up  by  a  dozen  frats,  and  landing 
the  bunch  in  a  crowd  that  it  had  never  heard  of  two 
weeks  before,  is  as  bad  as  trying  to  herd  a  bunch 
of  whales  into  a  fishpond  with  nothing  but  hot  air 
for  gads.  It  took  diplomacy,  pugnacity  and  psycho 
logical  moments,  I  tell  you;  and  it  took  more:  it 
took  ingenuity  and  inventiveness  and  cheek  and 
second  sight  and  cool  heads  in  time  of  trouble  and 
long  heads  on  the  job,  from  daybreak  to  daybreak. 
I  'd  rather  go  out  and  sell  battleships  to  farmers,  so 
far  as  the  toughness  of  the  job  is  concerned,  than 
to  tackle  the  job  of  persuading  a  wise  young  high- 
school  product  with  two  chums  in  another  frat  that 
my  bunch  and  he  were  made  for  each  other.  What 
did  he  care  for  our  glorious  history?  We  had  to 
use  other  means  of  getting  him.  We  had  to  hypno 
tize  him,  daze  him,  waft  him  off  his  feet;  and  if 
necessary  we  had  to  get  the  other  frats  to  help  us. 
How  ?  Oh,  you  never  know  just  how  until  you  have 
to;  and  then  you  slip  your  scheme  wheels  into  gear 
and  do  it.  You  just  have  to ;  that 's  all.  It 's  like 
running  away  from  a  bear.  You  know  you  can't, 
but  you  've  got  to ;  and  so  you  do. 

Makes  me  smile  now  when  I  think  of  some  of  the 
desperate  crises  that  used  to  roll  up  around  old  Eta 
Bita  Pie  like  a  tornado  convention  and  threaten  to 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  143 

engulf  the  bright,  beautiful  world  and  turn  it  into 
a  howling  desert,  peopled  only  by  Delta  Kappa 
Whoops  and  other  undesirables.  I  'm  far  enough 
away,  now,  to  forget  the  heart-bursting  suspense  and 
to  see  only  the  humor  of  it.  Once  I  remember  the 
Shi  Delts,  in  spite  of  everything  we  could  do,  man 
aged  so  to  befog  the  brain  of  the  Freshman  class 
president  that  he  cut  a  date  with  us  and  sequestered 
himself  in  the  Shi  Delt  house  in  an  upper  back 
room,  with  the  horrible  intention  of  pledging  himself 
the  next  morning.  Four  of  the  largest  Shi  Delts 
sat  on  the  front  porch  that  evening  and  the  telephone 
got  paralysis  right  after  supper.  They  had  told  the 
boy  that  if  he  joined  them  he  would  probably  have 
to  leave  school  in  his  Junior  year  to  become  governor ; 
and  he  did  n't  want  to  see  any  of  us  for  fear  we 
would  wake  him  up.  I  chuckle  yet  when  I  think 
of  those  four  big  bruisers  sitting  on  the  front  porch 
and  guarding  their  property  while  I  was  shinning  up 
the  corner  post  of  the  back  porch,  leaving  a  part  of 
my  trousers  fluttering  on  a  nail  and  ordering  the 
youngster  in  a  blood-curdling  whisper  to  hand  down 
his  coat,  unless  he  wanted  to  lose  forever  his  chance 
of  being  captain  of  the  football  team  in  his  Sopho 
more  year.  He  weighed  the  governorship  against  the 
captaincy  for  a  minute,  but  the  right  triumphed  and 
he  handed  down  his  coat.  I  sewed  a  big  bunch  of 
our  colors  on  it,  discoursed  with  him  fraternally 
while  balancing  on  the  slanting  roof,  shook  hands 
with  him  in  a  solemn,  ritualistic  way  and  bade  him 


144  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

be  firm  the  next  morning.  When  the  Shi  Delts  came 
in  and  found  that  Freshman  pledged  to  another  gang 
they  had  a  convulsion  that  lasted  a  week;  and  to 
this  day  they  don't  know  how  the  crime  was 
committed. 

There  was  another  Freshman,  I  remember,  who 
was  led  violently  astray  by  the  Chi  Yis  and  was 
about  to  pledge  to  them  under  the  belief  that  their 
gang  contained  every  man  of  note  in  the  United 
States.  We  had  to  get  him  over  to  the  house  and 
palm  off  a  lot  of  our  alumni  as  leading  actors  and 
authors,  who  had  dropped  in  to  dinner,  before  he 
was  sufficiently  impressed  to  reason  with  us.  Of 
course  this  is  not  what  the  English  would  call  "  rully 
sporting,  don't  you  know !  "  but  in  our  consciences 
it  was  all  classified  as  revenge.  We  got  the  same 
doses.  Fillings,  of  the  Mu  Kow  Moos,  pulled  one 
of  our  spikes  out  in  beautiful  fashion  once  by  im 
personating  our  landlord.  He  rushed  up  the  steps 
just  as  a  Freshman  rushee  was  starting  down  all 
alone  and  demanded  the  rent  for  six  months  on  the 
spot,  threatening  to  throw  us  out  into  the  street  that 
minute.  The  Freshman  hesitated  just  long  enough 
to  get  his  clothes  out  of  the  house,  and  we  did  n't 
know  for  a  month  what  had  frozen  his  feet 

The  Fli  Gams  weren't  so  slow,  either.  They 
found  out  once  that  one  of  the  men  we  were  just 
about  to  land  had  a  great  disgust  for  two  of  our 
men.  What  did  one  of  their  alumni  do  but  happen 
craftily  over  our  way  and  mention  in  the  most 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  145 

casual  manner  the  undying  admiration  that  the  boy 
had  for  those  two?  Of  course  we  sandwiched  him 
between  them  for  a  week  —  and  of  course  we  were 
pained  and  grieved  when  he  tossed  us  into  the  dis 
card  ;  but  we  got  even  with  them  the  next  year.  We 
picked  up  an  eminent  young  pugilist,  who  made  his 
headquarters  in  the  next  town,  and  for  a  little  con 
sideration  and  a  suit  of  clothes  that  was  a  regular 
college  yell  we  got  him  to  hang  around  the  campus  for 
a  week.  We  rushed  him  terrifically  for  a  day  and 
then  managed  to  let  the  Fli  Gams  get  him.  They 
rushed  him  for  a  week  in  spite  of  our  carefully 
regulated  indignation  and  then  proposed  to  him. 
When  he  told  them  that  he  might  consider  coming 
to  school  —  as  soon  as  he  had  gone  South  and  had 
cleaned  up  a  couple  of  good  scraps  —  they  let  out 
an  awful  shriek  and  fumigated  the  house.  They 
were  nice  young  chaps,  but  no  judge  of  a  pugilist. 
They  expected  to  be  able  to  see  his  hoofs. 

Well,  it  was  this  way  every  year  all  fall.  Ding- 
dong,  bing-bang,  give  and  take,  no  quarter  and  pretty 
nearly  everything  fair.  As  I  said,  it  was  n't  con 
sidered  exactly  proper  to  burn  a  rival  frat  house 
in  order  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  occupants 
while  they  were  entertaining  a  Freshman,  but  other 
wise  we  did  pretty  nearly  what  we  pleased  to  each 
other  —  only  being  careful  to  do  it  first.  Of  course 
a  lot  of  things  are  fair  in  love  and  war  that  would 
not  be  considered  strictly  ethical  in  a  game  of  cro 
quet.  And  rushing  a  Freshman  is  as  near  like  love 


146  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

as  anything  I  know  of.  It  is  n't  that  we  love  the 
Freshman  so  much.  When  I  think  of  some  of  the 
trash  we  fought  over  and  lost  I  have  to  laugh.  But 
we  could  n't  bear  the  idea  of  losing  him.  To  sit  by 
and  watch  another  gang  win  the  affections  of  a  young 
fellow  who  you  know  is  designed  by  Nature  for  your 
frat  and  the  football  team;  to  note  him  gradually 
breaking  off  the  desperate  chumminess  that  has 
grown  up  between  you  in  the  last  forty-eight  hours; 
to  think  that  in  another  day  he  will  have  on  the 
pledge  colors  of  another  fraternity  and  will  be  lost 
to  you  forever  and  ever  and  ever,  and  then  some  — 
what  is  losing  a  mere  girl  to  some  other  fellow  com 
pared  with  that  ?  Of  course  I  realize  now  that,  even 
if  a  Freshman  does  join  another  frat,  you  can  eventu 
ally  get  chummy  with  him  again  after  college  days 
are  over  if  you  find  him  worth  crossing  the  street  to 
see;  and  I  find  myself  lending  money  to  Shi  Delts 
and  borrowing  it  from  Delta  Whoops  just  as  freely 
as  if  they  were  Eta  Bites.  But  somehow  you  don't 
learn  these  things  in  time  to  save  your  poor  old 
nerves  in  college. 

When  I  was  in  school  the  Alfalfa  Delts,  the  Sigh 
Whoopsilons  and  the  Chi  Yis  were  giving  us  a  hor 
rible  race.  I  'm  willing  to  admit  it  now,  though  I  'd 
have  fought  Jeffries  before  doing  it  ten  years  ago. 
Each  fall  was  one  long  whirlwind.  The  President 
of  the  United  States  in  an  ofiice-seekers'  convention 
would  have  had  a  placid  time  compared  with  the 
Freshmen,  We  did  n't  exactly  use  real  axes  on  each 


Naturally  I  was  somewhat  dazzled 


Page  147 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  147 

other  and  we  did  n't  actually  tear  any  Freshman  in 
two  pieces,  but  we  came  as  near  the  limit  as  was 
comfortable.  No  frat  was  safe  for  a  minute  with 
its  guests.  If  you  tried  to  feed  'em  there  was  kero 
sene  in  the  ice  cream.  If  you  entertained  them  some 
frat  with  a  better  quartet  worked  outside  the  house. 
If  you  took  them  out  to  call  the  parlor  would  fill  up 
with  riffraff  in  no  time;  and  if  you  took  your  eye 
off  your  victim  for  a  minute  he  was  gone  —  some 
other  gang  had  got  him.  I  sometimes  think  some 
of  the  crowds  knew  how  to  palm  Freshmen  the  way 
magicians  do,  from  the  way  they  disappeared. 

Even  the  girls  took  a  hand  in  it.  When  I  was  a 
Sophomore  I  was  intrusted  with  the  task  of  leading 
a  Freshman  three  blocks  down  to  Browning  Hall  to 
call  on  one  of  our  solid  girls,  and  before  I  had  gone 
a  block  two  Senior  girls  met  us.  They  were  bare 
acquaintances  of  mine,  being  strong  Delta  Kap. 
allies,  and  they  usually  managed  to  see  me  only  after 
a  severe  effort ;  but  this  time  you  'd  have  thought 
I  was  a  whole  regiment  of  fiances.  They  literally 
fell  on  my  neck.  It  was  cruel  of  me,  they  declared, 
to  be  so  unsociable.  There  I  was,  a  football  hero  — 
I  'd  just  broken  my  rib  on  the  scrub  team  —  and 
every  girl  in  school  was  dying  to  tell  me  how  grand 
it  was  to  suffer  for  one's  college ;  and  yet  I  would  n't 
so  much  as  hint  that  I  wanted  to  come  to  the  sorority 
parties  —  and  lots  more  talk  of  the  same  kind. 
Naturally  I  was  somewhat  dazzled  and  I  'd  walked 
about  half  a  block  with  the  prettiest  one  before  I 


148  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

noticed  that  the  other  one  was  steering  Freshie  the 
other  way.  I  turned  around  and  never  even  said 
"  Good  day "  to  that  girl ;  but  it  was  too  late. 
About  a  dozen  Delta  Kaps  appeared  out  of  the 
ground  and  tried  to  look  surprised  as  they  gathered 
around  that  scared  little  Freshman  and  engulfed 
him.  We  never  saw  him  again  —  that  is,  in  his 
innocent  condition  —  and  the  boys  wouldn't  even 
trust  me  with  the  pledges  we  were  rushing  around 
for  bait  the  rest  of  the  fall  term.  Bait?  Oh,  yes. 
Sometimes  we  'd  pledge  a  man  on  the  quiet  and 
leave  him  out  a  week  or  two,  so  that  plenty  of  frats 
could  bid  him  —  made  them  appreciate  his  worth, 
you  know,  and  got  every  one  well  acquainted. 

By  the  time  I  was  a  Senior  the  competition  was 
desperate.  We  spent  the  summers  scouring  the 
country  for  prospects  and  we  spent  the  first  week 
of  school  smuggling  our  trophies  into  our  houses 
and  pledging  them,  without  giving  the  other  fellow 
a  look  in  —  that  is,  we  tried  to.  We  came  back 
fairly  strong  in  my  Senior  year,  with  a  good  bunch 
of  prospects;  but  the  one  that  excited  us  most  was 
a  telegram  from  Snooty  Vincent  in  Chicago.  It 
was  brief  and  erratic,  like  Snooty  himself,  and  read 
as  follows: 

Freshman  named  Smith  will  register  from  Chi 
cago.  Son  of  old  man  Smith,  multimillionaire. 
Kid  's  a  comer.  Get  him  sure !  SNOOTY. 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  149 

That  was  all.  One  of  the  half  million  Smiths  of 
Chicago  was  coming  to  college  —  age,  weight,  com 
plexion,  habits  and  time  of  arrival  unknown.  That 
telegram  qualified  Snooty  for  the  paresis  ward.  We 
did  n't  even  know  what  Smith  his  millionaire  father 
was.  The  world  is  full  of  Smiths  who  are  pestered 
by  automobile  agents.  All  we  knew  was  the  fact 
that  we  had  to  find  him,  grab  him,  sequester  him 
where  no  meddling  Alfalfa  Delt  or  Chi  Yi  could 
find  him,  and  make  him  fall  in  love  with  us  inside 
of  forty-eight  hours.  Then  we  could  lead  him  forth, 
with  the  colors  and  his  art^nouveau  clothes  on,  spread 
the  glad  news  —  and  there  would  n't  have  to  be  any 
more  rushing  that  fall.  ,We  'd  just  sit  back  and  take 
our  pick. 

We  sat  back  and  built  brains  full  of  air-castles 
for  about  three  minutes  —  and  then  got  busy.  It 
was  matriculation  day.  There  were  half  a  dozen 
trains  to  come  yet  from  Chicago  on  various  roads. 
We  had  to  meet  them  all,  pick  out  the  right  man  by 
his  aura  or  by  the  way  the  porter  looked  when  he 
tipped  him,  and  grab  him  out  from  under  the  rave 
nous  foe.  The  next  train  was  due  in  ten  minutes  and 
the  depot  was  a  mile  away.  We  sent  Crawford  down. 
He  was  trying  for  the  distance  runs  anyway. 

The  rest  of  us  went  out  to  show  a  couple  of  classy 
boys  from  a  big  prep  school  how  to  register  and  find 
a  room,  and  pick  out  textbooks;  and  incidentally 
how  to  distinguish  a  crowd  of  magnificent  young 
student  leaders  from  eleven  wrangling  bunches  of 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  151 

Petey  grabbed  his  hat  and  discharged  himself 
toward  the  depot.  We  brought  in  those  big  prep 
school  boys  and  tried  to  give  them  the  time  of  their 
lives,  but  our  hearts  were  n't  in  it.  We  were  think 
ing  of  those  Mu  Kow  Moos  —  that  f rat  of  all  others 
—  blissfully  towing  home  a  prize  they'd  stumbled 
onto  and  did  n't  know  anything  about !  We  thought 
of  those  beautifully  designed  air-castles  we  were 
hoping  to  move  into  and  we  got  pumpkins  in  our 
throats.  Stung  on  the  first  day  of  school  by  a  bunch 
that  had  to  wear  their  pins  on  their  neckties  to  keep 
from  being  mistaken  for  a  literary  society!  Oh, 
thunder!  We  went  in  to  dinner  all  smeared  up 
with  gloom.  Then  the  door  opened  and  Petey  came 
in.  He  was  five  feet  five,  Petey  was,  but  he  stooped 
when  he  came  under  the  chandelier.  He  had  a  suit 
case  in  one  hand  and  a  stranger  in  the  other. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Smith, 
of  Chicago." 


At  first  glance  you  wouldn't  have  taken  Smith 
for  a  perambulating  national  bank,  with  a  wheel 
barrow  of  spending-money  every  month.  He  was 
well-enough  dressed  and  all  that,  but  he  did  n't  loom 
up  in  any  mountainous  fashion  as  to  looks.  He  was 
runty  and  his  hair  was  a  kind  of  discouraged  red. 
He  had  freckles,  too,  and  he  was  so  bashful  that  his 
voice  blushed  when  he  used  it.  He  didn't  have  a 
word  to  say  until  dinner,  when  he  said  "  thank  you  " 


152  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

to  Sam,  the  waiter.  Altogether  he  was  so  meek  that 
he  had  us  worried;  but  then,  as  Allie  Bangs  said, 
you  can't  always  tell  about  these  multimillionaires. 
Some  of  them  didn't  have  the  nerve  of  a  mouse. 
He  'd  seen  millionaires  in  New  York,  he  said,  who 
were  afraid  of  cab  drivers. 

"  And  besides,"  said  Petey,  when  a  few  of  us  were 
talking  it  over  after  dinner,  "  I  'd  never  have  got  him 
if  he  had  n't  been  so  meek.  I  was  determined  that 
no  Mu  Kow  Moo  was  going  to  hang  anything  on  us; 
and  when  I  saw  the  three  of  them  coming  I  waded 
right  in.  Allison  and  Briggs,  those  two  dumb 
Juniors,  were  doing  the  steering.  It  was  like  taking 
candy  from  the  baby.  I  just  fell  right  into  them 
and  took  about  five  minutes  to  tell  those  two  how 
glad  I  was  to  see  them  back.  I  introduced  myself 
to  Smith ;  and  —  would  you  believe  it  ?  —  he  was  still 
carrying  his  suitcase !  I  grabbed  it  and  apologized  for 
not  having  carried  it  all  the  way  up  from  the  station. 
You  should  have  seen  those  yaps  scowl.  They  wanted 
to  shred  me  up,  but  I  never  noticed  them  again.  I 
pointed  out  all  the  sights  to  Smith  and  told  him  his 
friends  had  written  me  about  him.  There  was  so  little 
room  on  the  sidewalk  that  I  suggested  we  two  walk 
ahead ;  and  I  shoved  him  right  into  the  middle  of  the 
walk  and  made  Allison  and  Briggs  fall  behind.  I  had 
a  piece  of  luck  just  then.  Old  Pete  and  his  sawed-off 
cab  came  by  and  I  flagged  him  in  a  minute.  I  shoved 
Smith  in  and  got  in  after  him.  Then  I  told  the  two 
babes  that  I  could  take  care  of  Smith  all  right  and  that 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  153 

there  was  no  need  of  their  walking  clear  up  to  the 
house.  After  that  I  shut  the  door  and  we  came 
away.  If  looks  could  kill  I  'd  be  tuning  up  my 
harp  this  minute.  Say,  if  I  didn't  have  any  more 
nerve  than  those  two  I  'd  get  a  permit  from  the 
city  to  live.  And  all  the  time  Smith  never  made  a 
kick.  I  had  him  hypnotized.  Now  I  'm  going  in 
and  make  him  jump  through  a  hoop." 

We  should  have  been  very  happy  —  and  we  would 
have  been,  but  just  then  Symington  came  in  with 
some  astounding  news.  The  Alfalfa  Delts  had  a 
man  named  Smith,  of  Chicago,  over  at  their  house. 
He  was  on  the  front  porch,  with  the  whole  gang 
around  him ;  and  from  the  looks  of  things  they  'd 
have  him  benevolently  assimilated  before  twenty- 
four  hours.  Naturally  this  created  a  tremendous  lot 
of  emotion  around  our  house.  It  was  a  serious  situ 
ation.  We  might  have  the  right  Smith  and  then 
again  we  might  have  a  Smith  who  would  be  borrow 
ing  money  for  car  fare  inside  of  ten  minutes.  We 
had  to  find  out  which  Smith  it  was  before  we  tam 
pered  with  his  young  affections. 

Did  you  ever  snuggle  up  to  a  young  captain  of 
industry  and  ask  him  who  his  father  was  and  whether 
he  was  important  enough  in  the  business  world  to 
be  indicted  by  the  Government  for  anything?  That 
was  the  job  we  tackled  that  night  Smith  was  meek 
enough,  but  somehow  even  Petey's  nerve  had  its 
limits.  We  approached  the  subject  from  every  cor 
ner  of  the  compass.  We  led  up  to  it,  we  beat  around 


154  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

it  —  and  finally  we  got  desperate  and  led  the  boy 
up  to  it.  But  he  was  too  shy  to  come  down  with 
the  information.  Yes,  he  lived  in  Chicago.  Oh,  on 
the  North  Side.  Yes,  he  guessed  the  stock  market 
was  stronger.  Yes,  the  Annex  was  a  great  hotel. 
No,  he  didn't  know  whether  they  were  going  to 
put  a  tower  on  the  Board  of  Trade  or  not.  Yes, 
the  Lake  Shore  Drive  was  dusty  in  summer.  — 
[Good!] — He  wouldn't  care  to  live  on  it. — 
[Bah!] — Altogether  he  was  as  unsatisfactory  to 
pump  as  a  well  full  of  dusty  old  brickbats.  Just 
then  Rawlins,  who  had  been  scouting  around  seeing 
what  he  could  run  against  in  the  dark  of  the  moon, 
arrived  with  the  stunning  information  that  the  Chi 
Yis  had  a  man  named  Smith,  of  Oak  Park,  at  their 
house  and  that  every  corner  of  the  lawn  was  guarded 
by  picked  men! 

When  we  got  this  news  most  of  us  went  upstairs 
and  bathed  our  heads  in  cold  water.  Oak  Park 
sounded  even  more  suspicious  than  Chicago.  It 's 
a  solid  mahogany  suburb  and  everybody  there  is 
somebody  or  other.  You  have  to  get  initiated  into 
the  place  just  as  if  it  were  a  secret  society,  it 's  so 
exclusive.  That  meant  there  were  three  Smiths  from 
Chicago  in  school.  We  had  only  one  Smith.  We 
had  a  one-in-three  shot. 

We  stuck  the  colors  on  the  boys  from  the  big  prep 
school  just  to  keep  our  hands  in  and  went  to  bed 
so  nervous  that  we  only  slept  in  patches.  Still,  two 
Chicago  Smiths  in  other  frat  houses  were  better  than 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  155 

one.  It  meant  that  at  least  one  f  rat  was  n't  sure  of 
its  man.  Maybe  neither  one  was.  Our  scouts  had 
reported  that,  from  what  they  could  pick  up,  neither 
Smith  had  it  on  our  Smith  much  in  looks.  That 
could  only  mean  one  thing:  there  had  been  a  leak 
in  the  telegraph  office  again.  What  show  has  a  guile 
less  sixty-five-dollar-a-month  operator  against  a 
bunch  of  crafty  young  diplomatists  ?  They  had  read 
our  telegram  and  were  after  the  same  Smith  that 
we  were. 

By  morning  the  suspense  around  the  house  could 
have  been  shoveled  out  with  a  pitchfork.  If  one 
of  the  other  frats  had  the  right  Smith  and  knew 
it,  and  had  pledged  him  during  the  night,  there  was 
positively  no  use  in  living  any  longer.  Petey,  who 
had  shared  his  room  with  our  Smith,  reported  that 
he  was  now  like  wax  in  our  hands.  But  that  did  n't 
comfort  us  much.  It  was  too  confoundedly  puzzling. 
Maybe  we  had  the  heir  to  a  subtreasury  panting  to 
join  us  and  maybe  his  freckles  were  his  fortune.  All 
Petey  had  gouged  out  of  him  during  the  night  was 
the  fact  that  his  father  wanted  him  to  come  to 
Siwash  because  it  was  a  nice,  quiet  place.  Oh,  yes; 
it  was  deadly  calm! 

It  could  n't  have  been  more  than  seven  o'clock 
when  the  telephone  rang.  Petey  answered  it.  A 
relative  of  Smith's  was  at  the  hotel  and  had  heard 
the  boy  was  at  our  house.  Would  we  please  tell 
him  to  come  right  down?  Petey  said  he  would  and 
then  rang  off.  Then  he  grabbed  the  'phone  again 


156  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

and  asked  Central  excitedly  why  she  had  cut  him 
off.  Central  said  she  had  n't,  but  of  course  she  rang 
the  other  line  again. 

"Hello!"  said  Petey  blandly.  "This  is  the 
Alfalfa  Belt  house?" 

"  No ;  it 's  the  Chi  Yi  house,"  was  the  answer. 
Petey  put  the  receiver  up  contentedly  and  we  all 
turned  handsprings  over  the  library  table.  Fifty 
per  cent  safe,  anyway.  The  Chi  Yis  were  trying 
to  sort  out  the  Smiths,  too. 

It  was  an  hour  before  anything  else  happened. 
Then  Matheson  of  the  Alfalfa  Delts,  a  ponderous 
personage,  who  wore  a  silk  hat  on  Sunday  and  did 
instructing,  came  over  and  asked  if  we  had  a  man 
named  Smith  with  us.  He  was  to  be  a  pupil  of  his, 
he  said,  and  he  wanted  to  arrange  his  work.  Of 
course  Matheson  was  hoping  to  get  a  green  man  at 
the  door,  but  he  didn't  have  any  luck.  Bangs  him 
self  let  him  in  and  let  him  read  two  or  three  maga 
zines  through  in  the  library  while  we  turned  some 
more  handsprings  —  in  the  dining  room  this  time. 
The  Alfalfa  Delts  were  fishing,  too.  It  was  a  fair 
field  and  no  favors. 

After  a  while  Bangs  told  Matheson  that  the  man 
named  Smith  presented  his  compliments  and  said 
it  was  all  a  mistake.  His  tutor's  name  was  not 
Matheson,  but  Muttonhead.  That  sent  Matheson 
away  as  pleasant  as  you  please. 

All  that  day  we  sat  around  and  beat  off  the  enemy 
and  got  beaten  off  ourselves.  Our  Smith  got  a 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  157 

Faculty  notice  to  appear  at  once  and  register  — 
that  is,  it  got  as  far  as  the  door.  We  sent  it  back 
to  the  Chi  Yi  house.  We  sent  the  Alfalfa  Belt 
Smith  a  telegram  from  Chicago,  reading :  "  Father 
ill.  Come  at  once."  That  only  got  as  far  as  a  door, 
too.  Some  Alfalfa  Delt  got  it  and  sent  the  boy  back 
with  the  answer :  "So  careless  of  father !  "  Blan- 
chard  called  up  the  fire  department  and  sent  it  over 
to  the  Chi  Yi  house,  hoping  to  be  able  to  slip  over 
and  cut  out  Smith  in  the  confusion  that  followed; 
but  the  game  was  too  old.  The  Chi  Yis  had  played 
it  themselves  the  year  before  and  refused  to  bite. 
Meantime  we  had  found  a  Chi  Yi  alumnus  in  the 
kitchen  trying  to  sell  a  book  to  the  cook ;  and  in  the 
proceedings  that  followed  we  discovered  that  the 
book  had  a  ten-dollar  bill  in  it.  All  around,  it  was 
an  entertaining  but  profitless  day.  By  night,  there 
was  n't  another  idea  left  in  the  three  camps.  We 
sat  exhausted,  each  clutching  its  Smith  and  glaring 
at  the  other  two. 

As  far  as  our  Smith  was  concerned  we  almost 
wished  some  one  would  steal  him.  He  was  about 
as  interesting  as  a  pound  of  baking  powder.  What 
with  fishing  for  his  Bradstreet  rating,  and  inventing 
lies  to  keep  him  from  going  out  and  seeing  the  town, 
and  watching  the  horizon  for  predatory  Alfalfa 
Delts  and  Chi  Yis,  we  were  plumb  worn  out.  We 
were  so  skittish  that,  when  the  bell  rang  about  eight 
o'clock,  we  let  it  ring  four  times  more  before  we 
answered  it;  and  when  the  ringer  claimed  to  be  an 


158  At  Good  Old  Siwash  ' 

Eta  Bita  Pie  from  Muggledorfer  who  had  come  over 
to  attend  Siwash,  we  made  him  repeat  pretty  nearly 
the  whole  ritual  before  we  would  consider  his  cre 
dentials  good. 

He  got  in  at  last,  slightly  peevish  at  our  un- 
brotherly  welcome,  and  took  his  place  in  the  library 
circle.  We  were  explaining  the  whole  situation  to 
him,  when  Allie  Bangs  gave  an  earnest  yell  and 
stood  on  his  head  in  the  corner. 

"  What  did  you  say  your  name  was  ? "  he  asked 
the  visitor  after  he  had  been  set  right  side  up  again. 

"  Maxwell,  of  Fella  Kappa  chapter,"  said  the 
latter. 

"  No,  it  is  n't,"  said  Bangs  earnestly.  "  You 
ought  to  know  your  own  name !  "  he  went  on  severely. 
"  It 's  Smith  —  and  you  're  a  barb  from  the  corn 
field  !  You  've  come  to  Siwash  to  forget  how  to  plow 
and  to-morrow  you  're  going  to  organize  a  Smith 
Club.  Do  you  hear?  Don't  let  me  cateh  you  for 
getting  your  name  now  —  and  listen  closely." 

It  was  all  as  simple  as  beating  a  standpat  Con 
gressman.  Maxwell  was  a  stranger,  of  course.  He 
was  to  pin  his  Eta  Bita  Pie  pin  on  his  undershirt 
and  go  forth  in  the  morning  a  brand-new  Smith, 
green  and  guileless.  It  was  to  occur  to  him  just 
before  chapel  that  a  Smith  Club  ought  to  be  formed 
and  he  was  to  post  a  notice  to  that  effect.  He  would 
get  a  couple  of  well-known  non-fraternity  Smiths  in 
terested  and  have  them  visit  the  houses  and  see  the 
Chicago  Smiths.  With  all  the  Smiths  in  session 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  159 

that  night  he  ought  to  have  no  difficulty  in  finding 
out  which  was  the  son  of  old  man  Smith.  He  could 
be  lowdown  and  vulgar  enough  to  ask  right  out  if 
he  wished.  If  he  found  out  he  was  to  cut  out  that 
Smith  and  bring  him  to  our  house  —  if  he  had  to 
bind  and  gag  him.  If  he  didn't  he  was  to  bring 
all  three  —  if  he  could. 

There  was  a  quiet  and  most  reassuring  tone  in 
Maxwell's  voice  as  he  said :  "  I  can."  They  evi 
dently  had  their  little  troubles  at  Muggledorfer,  too. 

"  After  we  get  them  here,"  said  Bangs  earnestly, 
"  we  '11  just  pledge  all  three.  We  '11  surely  get  the 
right  one  that  way  and  perhaps  the  other  two  will 
not  be  so  bad." 

Upstairs,  Petey  Simmons  was  wearily  explaining 
to  our  Smith  for  the  ninth  time  that  Freshmen  were 
not  allowed  to  appear  on  the  campus  for  the  first 
three  days:  and  that  it  was  considered  good  form 
to  keep  indoors  until  the  Sophomore  rush;  and  that 
there  was  n't  a  room  left  in  town  anyway,  and  he 
might  as  well  stay  with  us  a  while;  and  that  the 
police  were  looking  for  college  students  downtown 
and  locking  them  up,  as  they  did  each  fall,  to  show 
their  authority.  Blanchard  relieved  him  of  his  task 
and  he  came  downstairs  mopping  his  brow.  Then 
we  went  to  work  and  planned  details  until  midnight. 
It  was  to  be  the  plot  of  the  century  and  every  wheel 
had  to  mesh. 

We  spent  the  next  day  in  a  cold  perspiration. 
Neither  Alfalfa  Delt  nor  Chi  Yi  paraded  any 


160  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

pledged  Freshmen.  They  were  still  hunting  for  the 
right  Smith,  too  — -  evidently.  They  fell  for  the 
Smith  Club  plan  with  such  suspicious  eagerness  that 
it  was  plain  each  bunch  had  some  nasty,  low-lived 
scheme  up  its  sleeves.  We  were  righteously  indig 
nant.  It  was  our  game  and  they  ought  not  to  butt 
in.  But  Maxwell  only  smiled.  He  was  a  Napoleon, 
that  boy  was.  He  just  waved  us  aside.  "  I  '11  run 
this  little  thing  the  way  we  do  at  Muggledorfer," 
he  explained.  "  You  fellows  can  play  a  few  lines 
of  football  pretty  well,  but  when  it  comes  to  sur 
rounding  a  Freshman  and  making  a  Greek  out  of 
him,  I  would  n't  take  lessons  from  old  Ulysses  him 
self."  And  so  we  left  him  alone  and  held  each 
other's  hands  and  smoked  and  cussed  —  and  hoped 
and  hoped  and  hoped. 

Maxwell  went  after  the  three  Smiths  himself  that 
night.  He  had  taken  a  room  in  an  out-of-the-way 
part  of  town  and  his  plan  was  to  take  them  over 
there  after  the  meeting  to  discuss  the  future  good 
of  the  Smith  Club.  Then  about  a  dozen  of  us  would 
slide  gently  over  there  —  and  a  curtain  would  have 
to  be  drawn  over  the  woe  that  would  ensue  for  the 
other  gangs.  Meanwhile,  all  we  had  to  do  was  to 
sit  around  the  house  and  gnaw  our  fingers.  Maxwell 
called  for  our  Smith  last  and  he  had  the  other  two 
in  tow.  Oh,  no ;  we  did  n't  invite  them  in.  Two 
Alfalfa  Delts  and  three  Chi  Yis  were  sitting  on  our 
porch,  visiting  us.  Three  Chi  Yis  and  two  Eta 
Bita  Pies  were  sitting  on  the  Alfalfa  Delt  porch. 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  161 

Four  Eta  Bites  and  two  Alfalfa  Belts  were  calling 
on  the  Chi  Yi  house.  It  was  a  critical  moment  and 
none  of  us  was  taking  chances.  We  couldn't  keep 
our  Smiths  from  wandering,  but  we  could  make  sure 
they  did  n't  wander  into  the  wrong  place. 

Maxwell  led  his  flock  of  Smiths  away  and  we 
all  sat  and  talked  to  each  other  in  little  short  bites. 
The  Chi  Yis  were  nervous  as  rabbits.  They  looked 
at  their  watches  every  five  minutes.  The  Alfalfa 
Delts  listened  to  us  with  one  ear  and  swept  the 
other  around  the  gloom.  The  night  was  charged 
with  plots.  Innumerable  things  seemed  trembling 
in  the  immediate  future.  When  the  visitors  excused 
themselves  a  little  later,  and  went  away  very  hur 
riedly,  we  learned  with  pleasure  from  one  of  our 
boys,  who  had  been  wandering  around  to  break  in 
a  new  pair  of  shoes  or  something,  that  the  Smith 
meeting,  which  had  been  called  for  the  Erosophian 
Hall,  had  been  attended  by  four  nondescript  and 
unknown  Smiths  and  fourteen  Chi  Yis,  who  had 
dropped  in  casually.  First  blood  for  us!  Maxwell 
had  evidently  succeeded  in  segregating  his  Smiths. 
We  expected  a  telephone  call  from  his  room  at  any 
minute. 

We  kept  on  expecting  it  until  midnight  and  then 
strolled  down  that  way.  The  house  was  dark. 
A  very  mad  landlady  came  down  in  response  to 
our  earnest  request  and  informed  us  that  the  young 
carouser  who  had  rented  her  room  had  not  been 
there  that  evening;  and  that  if  we  were  his  rowdy 


162  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

friends  we  could  tell  him  that  he  would  find  his 
trunk  in  the  alley.  Then  we  went  home  and  our 
brains  throbbed  and  gummed  up  all  night  long. 

We  went  to  chapel  the  next  morning  to  keep  from 
going  insane  outright.  The  Chi  Yis  were  there  look 
ing  perfectly  sour.  The  Alfalfa  Delts  on  the  other 
hand  were  riotous.  Every  one  of  them  had  a  pleasant 
greeting  for  us.  They  slapped  us  on  the  back  and 
asked  us  how  we  were  coming  on  in  our  rushing. 
Matheson  was  particularly  vicious.  He  came  over  to 
Bangs  and  put  his  arm  around  him  in  a  friendly  way. 
"  I  am  going  to  have  dinner  with  my  pupil  to-night," 
he  said  triumphantly.  "  He  wants  me  to  come  over 
and  get  his  trunk.  Says  he  's  got  a  good  room  now 
and  he 's  much  obliged  to  you  fellows  for  your 
trouble.  Have  you  heard  that  there 's  another 
Smith  in  school  —  son  of  a  big  Chicago  man  ? 
There  's  some  great  material  here  this  fall,  don't  you 
think?" 

Bangs  tripped  on  Matheson's  pet  toe  and  went 
away.  Something  horrible  had  happened.  How  we 
hated  those  Alfalfa  Delts!  They  had  stung  us  be 
fore,  but  this  was  a  triple-expansion,  double-back- 
action,  high-explosive  sting,  with  a  dum  dum  point. 
We  hurt  all  over ;  and  the  worst  of  it  was,  we  had  n't 
really  been  stung  yet  and  did  n't  know  where  it  was 
going  to  hit  us.  Did  you  ever  wait  perfectly  help 
less  while  a  large,  taciturn  wasp  with  a  red-hot  tail 
was  looking  you  over  ? 

The  Alfalfa  Delts  frolicked  up  and  down  college 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  163 

that  day,  Smithless  but  blissful.  We  consoled  our 
selves  with  a  couple  of  corking  chaps  whom  the  Delta 
Flushes  had  been  cultivating,  and  put  the  ribbons  on 
them  in  record  time.  Ordinarily  we  would  have 
been  perfectly  happy  about  this,  but  instead  we  were 
perfectly  miserable.  We  detailed  four  men  at  a  time 
to  be  gay  and  carefree  with  our  pledges;  and  the 
rest  of  us  sat  around  and  listened  to  our  bursting 
hearts.  Of  all  the  all-gone  and  utterly  hopeless  feel 
ings,  there  is  nothing  to  compare  with  the  one  you 
have  when  your  f rat  —  the  pride  of  the  nation  — 
has  just  been  tossed  into  the  discard  by  some  hollow- 
headed  Freshman. 

I  took  my  head  out  of  my  hands  just  before  din 
ner  and  went  down  the  street  to  keep  a  rushing 
engagement.  I  had  to  pass  the  Alfalfa  Delt  house. 
It  hurt  like  barbed  wire,  but  I  had  to  look.  I  was 
that  miserable  that  it  could  n't  have  bothered  me 
much  more,  anyway,  to  see  that  wildly  happy  bunch. 
But  I  did  n't  see  it.  I  saw  instead  a  crowd  of  fel 
lows  on  the  porch  who  made  our  dejection  look  like 
disorderly  conduct.  There  was  enough  gloom  there 
to  fit  out  a  dozen  funerals,  and  then  there  would 
have  been  enough  left  for  a  book  of  German  phi 
losophy.  The  crowd  looked  at  me  and  I  fancied  I 
heard  a  slight  gnashing  of  teeth.  I  did  n't  hesitate. 
I  just  walked  right  up  to  the  porch  and  said: 
"  Howdedo  ?  Lovely  evening !  "  says  I.  "  How 
many  Smiths  have  you  pledged  to-day  ? " 

The  gang  turned  a  dark  crimson.    Then  Matheson 


164  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

got  up  and  came  down  to  me.    He  was  as  safe-looking 
as  somebody  else's  bull  terrier. 

"  We  don't  care  to  hear  any  more  from  you,"  he 
said,  clenching  his  words ;  "  and  it  would  be  safer 
for  you  to  get  out  of  here.  We  're  done  with  your 
whole  crowd.  You  're  lowdown  skates  —  that 's  what 
you  are.  You  're  dishonorable  and  sneaky.  You  're 
cads !  We  '11  get  even.  I  give  you  warning.  We  '11 
get  even  if  it  takes  a  hundred  years." 

"  Thanks !  "  says  I.  "  Hope  it  takes  twice  as 
long."  Then  I  went  back  home  and  let  my  date 
take  care  of  itself. 

*     * 

We  went  through  dinner  in  a  daze  and  sat  around, 
that  night,  like  a  bunch  of  vacant  grins  on  legs. 
Our  grins  were  vacant  because  we  did  n't  know  why 
we  were  grinning.  We  'd  stung  the  Alfalfa  Belts. 
We  did  n't  know  why  or  how  or  when.  But  we  'd 
stung  them!  We  had  their  word  for  it.  Sooner  or 
later  something  would  turn  up  in  the  shape  of  par 
ticulars;  only  we  wished  it  would  hurry.  If  it 
didn't  turn  up  sooner  we  were  extremely  likely  to 
burst  at  the  seams. 

It  turned  up  about  nine  o'clock.  There  was  a 
commotion  at  the  front  door  and  Maxwell  came  in. 
He  was  followed  by  an  avalanche  of  Smiths.  There 
was  our  Smith,  and  a  tall,  lean  Smith,  and  a  Smith 
who  waddled  when  he  walked.  They  were  all  dirty 
and  dusty;  they  all  wore  our  pink-and-blue  pledge 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  165 

ribbons  on  their  coat  lapels  and  when  they  got  in 
the  house  they  gave  the  Eta  Bita  Pie  yell  and  sang 
about  half  of  the  songbook.  Maxwell  had  not  only 
pledged  them,  but  he  had  educated  them. 

After  we  had  stopped  carrying  the  bunch  about 
on  our  shoulders,  and  had  put  the  roof  of  the  house 
back,  and  had  righted  the  billiard  table,  and  per 
suaded  the  cook  to  come  down  out  of  a  tree  in  the 
back  yard,  we  allowed  Maxwell  to  tell  his  story. 

"  It  was  perfectly  simple,"  he  said.  "  Did  n't 
expect  to  be  kidnapped,  of  course ;  but  it 's  all  in  the 
day's  work.  You  've  no  idea  what  a  job  I  had 
getting  colors  to  pin  on  these  chumps.  If  it  had  n't 
been  for  my  pink  garters  and  a  blue  union  suit  I  'd 
put  on  yesterday  —  " 

We  stopped  Maxwell  and  backed  him  up  to  the 
starting  pole  again.  But  he  was  no  story-teller. 
He  skipped  like  a  cheap  gas  engine.  We  had  to  take 
the  story  away  from  him  piece  by  piece.  He  'd 
dodged  his  Smiths  down  a  side  street,  it  seems,  on 
the  plea  that  there  were  n't  any  more  Smiths  coming 
—  and  they  might  as  well  go  over  to  his  room.  All 
would  have  been  well  if  one  Smith  hadn't  got  an 
awful  thirst.  There  was  a  corner  drug  store  on  the 
way  to  the  room  and  while  the  quartet  were  insulting 
their  digestions  with  raspberry  ice-cream  soda  a 
college  man  with  a  wicked  eye  came  by.  A  few 
minutes  later,  just  as  they  were  crossing  the  railroad 
viaduct  near  Smith's  home,  two  closed  carriages 
drove  up  and  six  husky  villains  fell  upon  them, 


166  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

shouting :  "  Chi  Yi  forever !  "  And  after  dumping 
them  in  the  carriages,  they  sat  on  them,  while  the 
teams  went  off. 

"  After  I  'd  got  my  man's  knee  out  of  my  neck," 
said  Maxwell,  "  I  did  n't  seem  to  care  much  whether 
I  was  kidnapped  or  not.  It  would  bind  us  four 
closer  together  after  we  escaped;  and,  besides,  I 
have  never  found  kidnapping  to  pay  —  too  much 
risk.  Anyway,  they  drove  us  nothing  less  than 
twenty  miles  and  bundled  us  into  an  old  deserted 
house.  The  leader  told  us,  with  a  whole  lot  of  un 
necessary  embroidery,  that  we  were  to  stay  there  un 
til  we  pledged  to  Chi  Yi  if  we  rotted  in  our  shoes. 
Then,  of  course,  I  saw  through  the  whole  thing.  It 
was  an  Alfalfa  Delt  gang  disguised  as  Chi  Yis. 
The  Alfalfa  Belts  would  send  another  gang  out  the 
next  day,  rout  the  bogus  Chi  Yis  and  allow  the 
poor  Freshies  to  fall  on  their  necks  and  pledge  up. 
That  used  to  be  popular  at  Muggledorfer. 

"  I  did  the  talking  and  let  my  knees  knock  together 
considerably.  I  told  them  that  we  'd  been  too  badly 
shaken  up  to  think,  but  if  they  would  let  us  alone 
that  night  we  'd  try  to  learn  to  love  them  by  morning. 
So  they  put  us  upstairs  and  warned  us  that  every 
window  was  guarded;  then  we  lay  down  together 
and  I  began  at  the  first  chapter  and  pumped  those 
chaps  full  of  Eta  Bita  Pie  all  night. 

"  It  was  six  o'clock  when  they  finally  pledged. 
When  the  gang  came  up  they  found  us  adamant. 
'Never!'  said  I.  'We'll  pledge  Alfalfa  Delt  or 


The  Greek  Double  Cross  167 

die  martyrs  to  a  holy  cause !  '  Of  course  they  did  n't 
dare  give  themselves  away.  They  could  n't  even 
shout  for  joy.  All  they  could  do  was  to  wait  for 
the  rescuing  party.  I  spent  the  day  teaching  the 
boys  the  songs  and  the  yell  in  whispers ;  and  about 
three  o'clock  I  got  my  grand  inspiration  about  the 
colors  and  rigged  them  out.  Then  I  dug  my  own 
pin  out  and  put  on  my  vest  and  about  four  o'clock 
the  rescuing  party  drove  up.  Say,  you  'd  have 
laughed  to  see  that  fight!  Ham-actors  in  Richard 
the  Third  would  have  made  it  look  tame.  The  Chi 
Yis  put  up  a  fist  or  two,  threw  a  brick  and  then  cut 
for  the  timber ;  and  the  noble  Alfalfa  Delts  burst  open 
the  door  just  as  I  got  the  chorus  going  on  that  grand 
old  song: 

"  '  Oh,  you  've  got  to  be  an  Eta  Bita  Pie 

Or  you  won't  get  a  scarehead  when  you  die  I ' 

"  When  they  saw  us  there,  with  our  colors  on  and 
four  particularly  wicked-looking  chair  legs  in  our 
hands,  they  gave  one  simultaneous  gasp  —  and  say, 
boys,  I  don't  believe  in  ghosts,  but  I  don't  see  yet  how 
they  disappeared  so  instantaneously!  And  anyway, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  bring  out  the  prog.  We  drilled 
eight  miles  to  a  railroad  station  and  my  vest  buttons 
are  tickling  my  backbone." 

Just  then  a  telegram  arrived. 

"  Don't  look  for  Smith.  Changed  his  mind  and 
went  to  Jarhard! 

"  SNOOTY." 


168  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

No  wonder  we  could  n't  blast  any  information  out 
of  our  Smiths!  Oh,  they  were  our  Smiths  all  right 
—  and  they  were  n't  such  a  bad  bunch  at  that.  The 
fat  one  turned  out  to  be  the  champion  mandolin 
teaser  in  school  and  the  lean  one  made  the  debating 
team;  while  our  own  particular  first-edition  Smith 
won  the  catch-as-catch-can  chess  championship  of  the 
college  three  years  later. 

Just  the  same,  I  'd  like  to  get  one  fair  crack  at 
that  Smith  who  went  to  Jarhard.  I  'd  get  even  for 
those  three  days,  I  '11  bet  a  few ! 


CHAPTER   VII 

TAKING    PACE    FROM    FATHER    TIME 

HONESTLY,  Bill  it's  so  hard  to  keep  up  to 
date  these  days,  that  sometimes  I  'm  afraid 
to  go  to  sleep  at  night  for  fear  I  '11  find  myself  in 
an  ethnological  museum  when  I  wake  up  the  next 
morning,  with  people  making  funny  cracks  about  the 
strange  clothes  I  was  wearing  when  they  caught  me. 

I  'm  not  constitutionally  a  back  number  myself 
either.  I  come  as  near  wearing  next  year's  styles 
as  most  fellows,  and  I  had  my  wrist  broken  cranking 
an  automobile  before  most  Americans  believed  the 
things  would  go.  I  was  tired  of  this  hand-chopped 
furniture  fad  years  ago,  and  if  you  hand  me  any 
slang  that  I  can't  catch  on  the  fly  you  '11  have  to 
make  it  up  right  now.  But  there  's  no  use  talking. 
No  one  man  can  keep  up  with  this  world  all  by 
himself.  Sometimes  I  get  to  thinking  I  'm  so  far 
ahead  that  I  can  afford  to  sit  down  and  get  a  breath 
or  two,  and  when  I  get  up  I  have  to  eat  dust  for  the 
next  year  trying  to  catch  up. 

Take  colleges,  for  instance.  I  've  been  conceited 
enough  to  think  that  these  nappy  little  college  boys, 
with  their  front  hair  brushed  back  down  on  their 


170  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

necks,  could  n't  show  me  anything  that  I  was  n't 
tired  of.  I  've  kept  up  to  date  on  college  things, 
I  've  always  flattered  myself.  You  might  lose  me 
now  and  then  on  some  new  way  of  abusing  lettuce 
during  a  salad  course,  perhaps,  but  as  far  as  looking 
startled  at  anything  that  might  be  said  or  done 
around  a  college  campus  goes,  I  've  had  a  notion 
that  I  was  n't  in  the  learning  class  —  which  shows 
how  much  I  knew  about  it.  This  morning  a  gosling 
from  the  old  school  —  a  Sophomore  —  came  in  and 
visited  with  me  for  a  few  minutes,  on  the  strength 
of  the  fact  that  he  knew  my  baby  brother  in  high 
school.  We  had  n't  talked  a  minute  before  he  handed 
me  "  pragmatism  "  and  "  zing-slingers."  While  I 
was  rolling  my  eyes  and  clawing  for  a  foothold  he 
confessed  that  he  was  the  best  glider  in  college. 
When  I  remarked  that  I  had  been  somewhat  of  a 
glider  myself,  but  that  I  had  preferred  the  twostep, 
he  laughed  and  explained  that  he  was  captain  of  the 
aviation  team  —  that  they  had  three  gliders  and  were 
finishing  a  monoplane  that  had  a  home-made  engine 
with  concentric  cylinders. 

Can  you  beat  it?  There  I  was,  Petey  Simmons' 
best  friend,  and  personally  acquainted  with  eleven 
thousand  forms  of  college  excitement,  listening  to 
an  infant  with  my  mouth  open  and  stopping  him 
every  few  words  to  say  "  land  sakes,"  "  dew  tell  " 
and  "  what  d'  ye  mean  by  that  ? "  I  never  was  so 
humiliated  in  my  life,  but  there  's  no  getting  around 
the  truth.  I  've  been  ten  years  out  of  college,  and 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     171 

when  I  go  back  they  '11  pull  the  grandfather  clause 
on  me  and  wheel  me  in  early  nights.  I  'm  a  back 
number  and  I  know  the  symptoms.  When  that  young 
Sophomore  told  me  the  boys  of  Eta  Bita  Pie  had  just 
spent  twenty  dollars  apiece  on  a  formal  dance  and 
house  party,  I  put  up  the  same  kind  of  a  lecture 
to  him  that  my  father  gave  me  when  I  explained  that 
we  simply  had  to  spend  five  dollars  apiece  on  our 
party,  or  belong  in  the  fag  end  of  things.  And  I 
suppose  when  my  father's  crowd  blew  in  a  couple 
of  dollars  for  a  load  of  wood,  his  father  reminded 
him  that  when  HE  went  to  college  they  did  n't  coddle 
themselves  with  fires  in  their  dormitories.  And  I 
suppose  that  some  day  this  Sophomore  will  be  telling 
his  son  that  when  he  was  in  college  a  simple  little 
home-made  aeroplane  furnished  amusement  for 
twenty  fellows,  and  that  they  never  dreamed  of 
dropping  over  to  the  coast  on  Saturdays  for  a  dip 
in  the  surf  in  their  private  monoplanes.  Oh,  well, 
it 's  human  nature  and  natural  law,  I  suppose.  No 
use  trying  to  put  a  rock  on  the  wheels  of  progress 
—  and  there 's  no  use  trying  to  ride  the  darned 
thing  either.  It  '11  throw  you  every  time. 

When  I  went  to  college,  Billy  —  loud  pedal  on  that 
"  I  "  —  things  were  different.  We  did  n't  spend  our 
time  fooling  with  gliders  or  blow  ourselves  up  mon 
keying  with  pragmatism.  We  attended  strictly  to 
business.  We  were  there  for  educational  purposes 
and  we  had  no  time  to  chase  humming  birds  and 
chicken  hawks.  Why,  the  gasoline  money  of  a  young 


172  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

collegian  to-day  would  have  paid  my  board  bills 
then!  We  didn't  go  to  Japan  on  baseball  tours, 
or  lug  telescopes  around  South  America  when  we 
ought  to  have  been  studying  ethics.  We  lived  simply 
and  plainly.  There  was  n't  an  automatic  piano  in 
a  single  frat  house  when  I  was  in  college,  and  as  for 
wasting  our  money  on  motion-picture  shows  and  taxi- 
cabs  —  nonsense.  We  'd  have  died  first. 

You  see  I  'm  getting  into  practice.  Some  day 
I  '11  have  a  son,  I  hope,  and  he  '11  go  back  to  Siwash. 
Just  wait  till  he  comes  home  at  the  end  of  the  first 
semester  and  tries  to  put  across  any  bills  for  radium 
stickpins  and  lookophonic  conversations  with  the 
co-eds  at  Kiowa.  I  '11  pull  a  When-I-was-at-Siwash 
lecture  on  him  that  will  make  him  feel  like  a  spider 
on  a  hot  stove.  If  I  've  got  to  be  a  back  number 
I  want  to  romp  right  back  far  enough  to  have  some 
fun  out  of  it.  I  '11  make  him  sweat  as  much  lugging 
me  up  to  date  as  I  had  to  perspire  in  the  old  days  to 
illuminate  things  for  Pa. 

After  all,  there  is  no  question  at  college  more 
serious  than  the  Pa  question,  anyway,  Bill.  It  was 
always  butting  into  our  youthful  ambitions  and 
tying  pig  iron  to  our  coat-tails  when  we  wanted  to 
soar.  It 's  simply  marvelous  how  hard  it  is  to 
educate  a  Pa  a  hundred  miles  or  more  away  into  the 
supreme  importance  of  certain  college  necessities. 
It  is  n't  because  they  forget,  either.  It 's  because 
they  don't  realize  that  the  world  is  roaring  along. 

I  can  see  it  all  since  this  morning.      Take  my 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     173 

father,  for  instance.  There  was  no  more  generous 
or  liberal  a  Pa  up  to  a  certain  point.  He  wanted  me 
to  have  a  comfortable  room  and  vast  quantities  of 
good  food,  and  he  was  glad  to  pay  literary  society 
dues,  and  he  would  stand  for  frat  dues;  but  when 
it  came  to  paying  cab  hire,  you  could  jam  an  appro 
priation  for  a  post-office  in  an  enemy's  district  past 
Joe  Cannon  in  Congress  more  easily  than  you  could 
put  a  carriage  bill  through  him.  He  just  said  "  no  " 
in  nine  languages;  said  that  when  he  went  to 
Siwash  —  "  and  it  turned  out  good  men  then,  too, 
young  fellow  "  —  the  girls  were  glad  to  walk  to  enter 
tainments  through  the  mud;  and  when  it  was  un 
usually  muddy  they  were  n't  averse  to  being  carried 
a  short  distance.  I  believe  I  would  have  had  to 
lead  disgusted  co-eds  to  parties  on  foot  through  my 
whole  college  course  if  I  had  n't  happened  across  an 
old  college  picture  of  father  in  a  two-gallon  plug 
hat.  That  gave  me  an  idea.  I  put  in  a  bill  for  a 
plug  hat  twice  a  year  and  he  paid  it  without  a  mur 
mur.  Then  I  paid  my  carriage  bills  with  the  money. 
Plug  hats  had  been  the  peculiar  form  of  insanity 
prevalent  at  Siwash  in  his  day  and  he  thought  they 
were  still  part  of  the  course  of  study. 

I  got  along  much  easier  than  many  of  the  boys, 
too.  Allie  Bangs'  Pa  made  him  buy  all  his  clothes 
at  home,  for  fear  he  'd  get  to  looking  like  some  of  the 
cartoons  he  'd  seen  in  the  funny  papers.  "  Prince  " 
Hogboom  was  a  wonder  of  a  fullback,  and  his  favor 
ite  amusement  was  to  get  out  at  night  and  try  to  pull 


174  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

gas  lamps  up  by  the  roots.  He  was  a  natural  born 
holy  terror,  but  his  father  thought  he  was  fitted  by 
nature  to  be  a  missionary,  and  so  Hoggie  had  to 
harness  himself  up  in  meek  and  long-suffering  clothes 
and  attend  Bible-study  class  twice  a  week.  The 
crimes  he  committed  by  way  of  relieving  himself  after 
each  class  were  shocking.  Then  there  was  Petey  Sim 
mons,  who  was  a  perpetual  sunbeam  and  greatly  be 
loved  because  it  was  so  easy  to  catch  happiness  from 
him.  And  yet  Petey  went  through  school  with  a  cloud 
over  his  young  life,  in  the  shape  of  a  Pa  who  gave  him 
a  thousand  dollars  a  year  for  expenses  and  would  n't 
allow  a  single  cent  of  it  to  be  spent  for  frivolity. 
And  he  had  a  blanket  definition  for  frivolity  that 
covered  everything  from  dancing  parties  to  pie  at 
an  all-night  lunch  counter.  By  hard  work  Petey 
could  spend  about  four  hundred  dollars  on  necessary 
expenses,  and  that  left  him  six  hundred  dollars  a  year 
to  blow  in  on  illuminated  manuscripts,  student  lamps, 
debating  club  dues  and  prints  of  the  old  masters. 
He  had  to  borrow  money  from  us  all  through  the 
year,  and  then  hold  a  great  auction  of  his  art  trophies 
and  student  lamps,  before  vacation  came,  in  order  to 
pay  us  back. 

But  all  of  these  troubles  were  n't  even  annoyances 
beside  what  Keg  Rearick  had  to  endure.  Keg  was 
an  affectionate  contraction  of  his  real  nickname  — 
"  Keghead."  He  had  the  worst  case  of  "  Pa  "  I  ever 
heard  of.  He  was  a  regular  high  explosive  —  one  of 
these  fine,  old,  hair-triggered  gentlemen,  who  consider 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     175 

that  they  have  done  all  the  thinking  that  the  world 
needs  and  refuse  to  have  any  of  their  ideas  altered 
or  edited  in  any  particular.  Keg  had  had  his  life 
laid  out  for  him  since  the  day  of  his  birth,  and  when 
he  left  for  Siwash  —  on  the  precise  day  announced 
by  his  father  eighteen  years  before  —  the  old  man 
stood  him  up  and  discoursed  with  him  as  follows : 

"  My  son,  I  am  about  to  give  you  the  finest  edu 
cation  obtainable.  You  are  to  go  down  to  Siwash  and 
learn  how  to  be  a  credit  to  me.  Let  me  impress  it 
on  you  that  that  is  your  only  duty.  You  will  meet 
there  companions  who  will  try  to  persuade  you  that 
there  are  other  things  to  be  done  in  college  besides 
becoming  a  scholar.  You  will  pay  no  attention  to 
them.  You  are  to  spend  your  time  at  your  books. 
You  are  to  lead  your  class  in  Latin  and  Greek. 
Mathematics  I  am  not  so  particular  about.  You 
are  to  waste  no  time  on  athletics  and  other  modern 
curses  of  college.  I  shall  pay  your  expenses  and 
I  shall  come  down  occasionally  to  see  how  you  are 
progressing.  And  you  know  me  well  enough  to  know 
that  if  I  find  you  deviating  from  the  course  I  have 
laid  out  in  any  particular,  you  will  return  home  and 
go  into  the  store  at  six  dollars  a  week." 

That 's  the  way  Keg  always  repeated  it  to  us. 
With  that  affectionate  farewell  ringing  in  his  ears 
he  came  on  down  to  Jonesville;  and  when  the  Eta 
Bita  Pies  saw  his  honest  features  and  his  particularly 
likable  smile,  they  surrounded  and  assimilated  him 
in  something  less  than  fifteen  minutes  by  the  clock. 


176  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

And  then  his  troubles  began.  Keg's  father  had  come 
down  the  week  before  school  and  had  selected  a  quiet 
place  about  three  miles  from  the  college  —  out  beyond 
the  cemetery  in  a  nice  lonely  neighborhood,  where 
there  was  just  about  enough  company  to  keep  the  tele 
phone  poles  from  getting  despondent.  Moreover,  he 
had  n't  given  Keg  any  spending  money. 

"Education  is  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  world," 
he  roared.  "  You  don't  have  to  keep  your  pockets 
full  of  dollars  to  live  in  the  times  of  Homer  and 
Horace.  I  've  told  them  to  let  you  have  what  you 
need  at  the  bookstore.  For  the  rest,  the  college 
library  should  be  your  haunt  and  the  debating  society 
your  recreation."  If  ever  any  one  was  getting 
knowledge  put  down  his  throat  with  a  hydraulic  ram, 
it  certainly  was  Keg  Rearick. 

It  is  n't  hard  to  imagine  the  result.  Keg  toiled 
away  three  miles  from  anything  interesting  and  got 
bluer  and  gloomier  and  more  anarchistic  every  day. 
Would  n't  have  been  so  bad  if  nobody  had  loved  him. 
Lots  of  fellows  go  through  college  with  no  particular 
friends  and  emerge  in  good  health  and  spirits.  But 
we  had  courted  Keg  and  had  tried  to  make  it  im 
possible  for  him  to  live  without  us.  We  liked  him 
and  we  hankered  for  his  company.  We  wanted  to 
parade  him  around  the  campus  and  confer  him  upon 
the  prettiest  co-ed  in  his  boarding  hall,  and  teach 
him  to  sing  a  great  variety  of  interesting  songs,  with 
no  particular  sense  to  them,  and  snatch  off  two  or 
three  important  offices  around  school.  Instead  of  that 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     177 

he  only  got  to  say  "  howdy  "  to  us  between  classes, 
and  the  rest  of  his  time  he  spent  Edward  Payson 
Westoning  back  and  forth  from  his  suburban  lair, 
without  a  cent  in  his  pockets  and  the  street-car  motor- 
men  giving  him  the  bell  to  get  off  of  the  track  into 
the  mud  every  other  block. 

We  very  soon  found  this  wasn't  going  to  do. 
Keg's  spirits  were  down  about  two  notches  below  the 
absolute  zero.  If  this  was  college  life,  he  said,  would 
somebody  kindly  take  a  pair  of  forceps  and  remove 
it.  It  ached.  The  upshot  was  we  made  Keg  steward 
of  the  frat-house  table,  which  paid  his  board  and 
room  and  moved  him  into  the  chapter  house.  He 
objected  at  first,  because  of  what  his  father  would 
say  when  he  heard  of  it.  But  he  finally  concluded 
that  anything  he  might  say  would  be  pleasanter  than 
going  all  day  without  hearing  anything,  so  he  sur 
rendered  and  came  along. 

The  first  night  at  dinner,  when  we  pushed  back 
our  chairs  and  sang  a  few  lines  by  way  of  getting 
ready  to  go  upstairs  and  chink  a  little  assorted  learn 
ing  into  our  headpieces,  Keg  cried  for  pure  joy.  He 
buckled  down  to  work  the  way  a  dog  takes  hold  of 
a  root,  and  inside  of  a  week  he  couldn't  remember 
a  time  in  his  young  existence  when  he  had  been  un 
happy.  He  was  tossing  out  Greek  declensions  to  the 
prof,  like  a  geyser,  and  Conny  Matthews,  our  cham 
pion  Livy  unraveler,  had  shown  him  how  to  hold  a 
Latin  verb  in  his  teeth  while  he  broke  open  the  rest 
of  the  sentence.  And,  besides  that,  we  had  introduced 


178  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

him  to  all  the  nicest  girls  in  the  college  and  had 
assisted  the  glee  club  coach  to  discover  that  he  had 
a  fine  tenor  voice.  He  was  a  sure-enough  find,  and 
fitted  into  college  life  as  if  it  had  been  made  to 
measure  for  him. 

Of  course  all  this  pleasantness  had  to  have  a  gloom 
spot  in  it  somewhere.  Rearick's  father  furnished  the 
gloom.  He  was  certainly  the  most  rambunctious,  most 
unreconstructed  and  most  egregious  Pa  that  ever 
tried  to  turn  the  sunshine  off  of  a  bright  young 
college  career.  Regularly  once  a  week  a  letter  would 
come  to  Keg  from  him.  It  always  began  "  When 
I  was  in  college,"  and  it  always  wound  up  by  order 
ing  Keg  to  eat  a  few  assorted  lemons  for  the  good 
of  his  future.  He  was  to  go  to  morning  prayer, 
regularly  —  there  had  n't  been  any  for  twenty  years. 
He  was  to  become  as  well  acquainted  as  possible  with 
his  professors,  because  of  the  inspiration  it  would  give 
him  —  fancy  snuggling  up  to  old  Grubb.  He  was  to 
take  a  Sunday-school  class  at  once.  He  was  to  re 
member  above  all  things  that  though  it  was  a  dis 
grace  to  waste  a  minute  of  the  precious  college  years 
it  was  equally  a  disgrace  to  go  through  college  with 
out  being  self-supporting.  He  should  by  all  means 
learn  to  milk  at  once.  He,  Keg's  father,  had  been 
valet  to  a  couple  of  very  fine  Holstein  cows  while  he 
was  in  college,  and  he  attributed  much  of  his  success 
to  this  fact.  He  would  of  course  pay  Keg's  expenses 
while  he  had  to,  but  he  would  hold  it  to  his  discredit. 
He  must  at  once  begin  to  find  work* 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     179 

This  last  command  impressed  Keg  deeply,  for  he 
had  been  sailing  along  with  us  without  a  cent.  He  'd 
been  earning  his  board  and  room,  of  course,  but  that 
was  already  paid  for  for  a  month  out  on  the  edge  of 
the  planet;  and  as  it  was  the  first  time  the  family 
that  owned  the  house  had  ever  got  a  student  boarder 
they  firmly  declined  to  rebate.  It 's  pretty  hard  to 
butterfly  joyously  along  with  the  fancy- vest  gang 
without  any  other  assets  than  unlimited  credit  at  the 
bookstore,  so  Keg  began  to  prowl  for  a  job.  Presently 
he  picked  up  a  laundry  route.  The  laundry  wagon 
was  a  favorite  vehicle  on  which  to  ride  to  fame  and 
knowledge  in  those  days.  By  getting  up  early  two 
mornings  a  week  and  working  late  nights,  Keg  man 
aged  to  put  away  about  six  dollars  and  forty-five  cents 
a  week,  providing  every  one  paid  his  laundry  bill. 
He  was  so  pleased  and  tickled  over  the  idea  that  he 
wrote  to  his  father  at  once  explaining  that  he  now 
had  plenty  of  work,  but  had  had  to  move  downtown 
in  order  to  do  it. 

Did  this  please  old  pain-in-the-f ace  ?  Not  notice 
ably.  There  had  been  no  such  things  as  laundry 
wagons  in  his  day.  Students  were  lucky  if  they  had 
a  shirt  to  wear  and  one  to  have  washed  at  the  same 
time.  He  wrote  a  letter  back  to  Keg  that  bit  him 
in  every  paragraph.  He  was  to  give  up  the  frivolous 
laundry  job  and  get  some  wood  to  saw.  That  and 
tending  cows  were  the  only  real  methods  of  toiling 
through  college.  He,  Keg's  father,  had  received  his 
board  and  room  for  milking  cows  and  doing  chores, 


180  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

and  he  had  sometimes  earned  as  much  as  three  dollars 
a  week  after  school  hours  and  before  breakfast  saw 
ing  cord-wood  at  seventy-five  cents  a  cord.  It  was 
healthful  and  classic.  He  would  send  his  old  saw 
by  express.  And  he  was  further  to  remember  — 
there  were  about  four  more  pages  to  memorize,  a 
headache  in  every  page. 

Good  old  Keg  did  his  best  to  be  obedient,  but  he 
had  no  chance.  In  the  first  place,  cord-wood  was 
phenomenally  scarce  in  Jonesville,  and  anyway,  peo 
ple  had  a  vicious  habit  of  hindering  the  cause  of 
education  by  sawing  it  at  the  wood-yards  with  a 
steam  saw.  There  were  plenty  of  cows  in  the  out 
skirts,  but  they  were  either  well  provided  with  com 
panions  for  their  leisure  hours,  or  their  owners 
declined  to  allow  Keg  to  practice  on  them  —  he  know 
ing  about  as  much  about  a  cow  as  he  did  about  a 
locomotive.  And  so  he  dawdled  on  with  us  at  the 
chapter  house,  gulping  down  Livy,  getting  a  strangle 
hold  on  Homer,  and  pulling  in  six  or  seven  dollars 
a  week  at  his  frivolous  laundry  job,  some  of  which 
cash  he  was  saving  up  for  a  dress  suit.  And  then, 
one  day,  Pa  Rearick  blew  in  for  another  visit  and 
caught  his  son  playing  a  mandolin  in  our  lounging 
room  —  far,  far  from  the  nearest  cyclone  cellar. 

To  judge  from  the  conversation  that  followed  — 
we  could  n't  help  hearing  it,  although  we  went  out- 
of-doors  at  once  —  one  might  have  thought  that  Keg 
had  been  caught  in  a  gilded  den  of  sin,  playing  poker 
with  body-snatchers.  Pa  Rearick  simply  cut  loose 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     181 

and  bombarded  the  neighborhood  with  red-hot  ad 
jectives.  That  he  should  have  brought  up  a  son  to 
do  him  honor  and  should  have  found  him  dawdling 
his  college  moments  away  with  loafers;  fawning  on 
the  idle  sons  of  the  rich ;  tinkling  a  mandolin  instead 
of  walking  with  Homer;  wasting  time  and  money 
instead  of  trying  to  earn  his  way  to  success  —  "  Bah," 
likewise  "  Faugh,"  to  say  nothing  of  other  picturesque 
expressions  of  entire  disgust  —  from  all  of  which  one 
would  judge  almost  without  effort  that  Keg  was  in 
bad,  and  in  all  over. 

I  suppose  Keg  attempted  to  explain.  Possibly  some 
people  try  to  argue  with  a  funnel-shaped  cloud  while 
it  is  juggling  the  house  and  the  barn  and  the  piano. 
Anyway  the  explanations  were  n't  audible.  Presently 
Pa  Rearick  announced,  for  most  of  the  world  to  hear, 
that  he  was  going  to  take  his  idle,  worthless,  dis 
graced  and  unspeakable  nincompoop  of  a  son  back 
to  his  home  and  set  him  to  weighing  out  dried  apples 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Then  up  rose  Keg  and  spoke 
quite  clearly  and  distinctly  as  follows : 

"  No,  you  're  not,  Dad." 

"  Wh-wh-wh-whowho w wy  not !  "  said  Pa  Rearick, 
with  perfect  self-possession  but  some  difficulty. 

"  Because  I  like  this  college  and  I  'm  going  to 
stay  here,"  said  Keg.  "  I  'm  standing  well  in  my 
studies  and  I  'm  learning  a  lot  all  around." 

"  All  I  have  to  say  is  this,"  said  Pa  Rearick.  I 
really  have  n't  time  to  repeat  all  of  those  few  words, 
but  the  ukase,  when  it  was  completely  out,  was  the 


182  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

following:  Keg  was  to  have  a  chance  to  ride  home 
in  the  cars  if  he  packed  up  within  ten  minutes. 
After  that  he  could  walk  home  or  dance  home  or  play 
his  way  home  with  his  mandolin.  And  he  was  given 
to  understand  that,  when  he  finally  arrived,  the  near 
est  substitute  to  a  fatted  calf  that  would  be  prepared 
for  dinner  would  be  a  plate  of  cold  beans  in  the 
kitchen  with  the  hired  man. 

"  You  may  stay  here  and  dawdle  with  your  worth 
less  companions  if  you  desire,"  shouted  Pa  Rearick 
to  a  man  in  an  adjoining  county.  "  The  lesson  may 
be  a  good  one  for  you.  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  matter.  But  understand.  Don't  write  to  me 
for  a  cent.  Not  one  cent.  You  've  made  your  bed. 
Now  lie  on  it" 

With  which  he  went  away,  and  we  tiptoed  carefully 
in  to  rearrange  the  shattered  atmosphere  and  comfort 
Keg.  We  found  him  looking  thoughtfully  at  nothing, 
with  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  from  which  about 
six  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents'  worth  of  jingle 
sounded  now  and  then.  We  waited  patiently  for 
him  to  speak.  At  last  he  turned  on  us  and  grinned 
pensively. 

"  Do  you  know,  boys,"  he  said,  "  as  a  bed-maker 
I  can  beat  the  owner  of  that  prehistoric  old  corn-husk 
mattress  out  in  the  suburbs  with  one  hand  tied 
behind  me." 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

Of  course  it  is  a  sad  thing  to  be  regarded  with 
indignation  and  disgust  by  one's  only  paternal  parent, 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     183 

but  Keg  bore  up  under  it  pretty  manfully.  He  dug 
into  his  work  harder  than  ever  —  and  he  was  a  good 
student.  Latin  words  stuck  to  him  like  sandburrs. 
That  was  n't  his  fault,  of  course.  Some  men  are 
born  with  a  natural  magnetism  for  Latin  words; 
and  others,  like  myself,  have  to  look  up  quoque  as 
many  as  nine  times  in  a  page  of  Mr.  Horace's  cele 
brated  metrical  salve-slinging.  Keg  went  into  a 
literary  society,  too,  and  developed  such  an  unholy 
genius  at  wadding  up  the  other  fellow's  words  and 
feeding  them  back  to  him  that  he  made  the  Kiowa 
debate  in  his  Freshman  year.  He  also  chased  locals 
for  the  college  paper,  made  his  class  football  team, 
got  on  the  track  squad  and  won  the  Freshman  essay 
prize.  In  fact,  he  killed  it  all  year  long  and  likewise 
he  trained  all  year  long  with  his  idle  and  vicious 
companions  —  meaning  us. 

It  beats  all  how  much  benefit  you  can  get  from 
training  with  idle  and  vicious  companions,  if  you 
are  built  that  way.  Of  course  we  taught  him  how 
to  play  a  mandolin,  and  how  to  twostep  on  his  own 
feet  exclusively,  and  how  to  roll  a  cigarette  without 
carpeting  the  floor  with  tobacco,  and  how  to  make  a 
pretty  girl  wonder  if  she  is  as  beautiful  as  all  that, 
without  really  saying  it  himself,  and  dozens  of  other 
pretty  and  harmless  little  tricks.  But  that  was  n't 
half  he  picked  up  while  he  was  loafing  away  the  golden 
hours  of  his  college  course  in  our  chapter  house. 
Conny  Matthews,  whose  hobby  was  Latin  verse, 
plugged  him  up  to  sending  in  translated  sonnets  from 


184  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Horace  for  Freshman  themes.  Noddy  Pierce  showed 
him  how  to  grab  the  weak  point  in  the  other  fellow's 
debate  and  hang  on  to  it  through  the  rebuttal,  while 
the  enemy  floundered  and  struggled  and  splattered 
disjointed  premises  all  over  the  hall.  Allie  Bangs 
had  a  bug  on  fencing,  and  because  he  and  Keg  used 
to  tip  over  everything  in  the  basement  trying  to 
skewer  each  other,  they  got  to  reading  up  on  old 
French  customs  of  producing  artistic  conversations 
and  deaths  and  other  things,  and  eventually  they 
wrote  one  of  those  "  Ha  "  and  "  Zounds  "  plays  for 
the  Dramatic  Club.  In  fact,  there  's  no  limit  to  what 
you  can  absorb  from  idle  and  vicious  companions.  In 
one  term  alone  I  myself  picked  up  banjo  playing, 
pole  vaulting,  a  little  Spanish,  a  bad  case  of  mumps, 
and  two  flunks,  simply  by  associating  with  the  Eta 
Bita  Pie  gang  twenty-seven  hours  a  day. 

But  nobody  had  to  show  Keg  how  to  get  jobs  after 
his  first  experience.  He  had  a  knack  of  scenting  a 
soft  financial  snap  a  mile  away  to  leeward,  and  work 
ing  his  way  through  college  was'  the  least  of  his 
troubles.  It  used  to  make  me  tired  to  see  the  non 
chalance  with  which  he  would  sleuth  up  to  a  nice  fat 
thing  like  a  baseball  season  program,  and  put  away 
a  couple  of  hundred  with  a  single  turn  of  the  wrist 
and  about  four  days'  hard  soliciting  among  the  long- 
suffering  Jonesville  merchants.  I  never  could  do  it 
myself.  I  had  the  popular  desire  to  work  my  way 
through  school  when  I  entered  Siwash,  and  I  pic 
tured  myself  at  the  end  of  my  college  career  receiving 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     185 

my  diploma  in  my  toil-scarred  fist,  without  having 
had  a  cent  from  home.  But  pshaw !  I  was  a  joke.  I 
mowed  one  lawn  in  my  Freshman  year,  after  hunting 
for  work  for  three  weeks ;  and  I  lost  that  engagement 
because  the  family  decided  the  hired  girl  could  do  it 
better.  After  that  I  gave  up  and  took  my  checks 
from  home  like  a  little  man.  In  Siwash  it  is  all 
right  to  get  sent  through  school,  and  nobody  looks 
down  on  you  for  it.  The  boys  who  make  their  own 
way  are  very  kind  and  never  taunt  you  if  you  have 
to  lean  on  Pa.  But  all  the  same,  you  feel  a  little  bit 
disgraced.  Why,  I  Ve  seen  a  cotillon  leader  run  all 
the  way  home  from  a  downtown  store  where  he  clerked 
after  school  hours,  in  order  to  get  into  his  society 
harness  on  time ;  and  when  the  winner  of  the  Inter 
state  Oratorical  in  my  Freshman  year  had  received 
his  laurel  wreath  and  three  times  three  times  three 
times  three  from  the  crazy  student  body,  he  excused 
himself  and  went  off  to  the  house  where  he  lived,  to 
fill  up  the  hard-coal  heater  and  pump  the  water  for 
the  next  day's  washing. 

As  I  started  to  say,  some  time  ago,  Keg  proved  to 
be  a  positive  genius  in  nailing  down  jobs.  He  had  n't 
been  with  us  three  months  until  he  had  presented 
his  laundry  route  to  one  of  the  boys.  He  did  n't  have 
time  to  attend  to  it.  He  had  hauled  down  a  chapel 
monitorship  that  paid  his  tuition.  He  got  his  board 
and  room  from  us  for  being  steward,  and  how  he 
ever  got  the  fancy  eats  he  gave  us  out  of  four  dollars 
per  week  per  appetite  is  an  unsolved  wonder.  He 


186  At    Good  Old  Siwash 

made  twenty-five  dollars  in  one  week  by  introducing 
a  new  brand  of  canned  beans  among  the  hash  clubs. 
He  took  orders  for  bookbinding  on  Saturdays,  and 
sold  advertising  programs  for  the  college  functions 
after  school  hours.  More  than  once  I  borrowed  ten 
dollars  from  him  that  year,  while  I  was  living  on 
hope  and  meeting  the  mailman  half-way  down  the 
block  each  morning  just  before  the  first  of  the  month. 
And  I  was  n't  the  only  man  who  did  it,  either. 

Perhaps  you  wonder  how  he  had  time  to  do  all 
this  and  to  mix  up  in  all  the  various  departments  of 
student  bumptiousness,  besides  absorbing  enough  in 
formation  laid  down  and  prescribed  by  the  curriculum 
to  batter  an  "  A  "  out  of  old  Grubb,  who  hated  to  give 
a  top  mark  worse  than  most  men  hate  to  take  quinine. 
That 's  one  of  the  mysteries  of  college  life.  Xo  one 
has  time  to  do  anything  but  the  busy  man.  In  every 
school  there  are  a  few  hundred  joyous  loafers  who 
hold  down  an  office  or  two,  and  make  one  team,  and 
then  have  only  time  to  take  a  few  hasty  peeps  at  a 
book  while  running  for  chapel ;  and  there  are  a  dozen 
men  who  do  the  debating  and  the  heavy  thinking  for 
half  a  dozen  societies,  and  make  some  athletic  team, 
and  get  their  lessons  and  make  their  own  living  on 
the  side  —  and  who  always  have  time,  somehow,  to 
pick  up  some  new  and  pleasant  pastime,  like  reading 
up  for  an  oration  on  John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  or 
some  other  eminent  has-been.  When  I  think  of  my 
wasted  years  in  college  and  of  how  I  was  always  go 
ing  to  take  hold  of  Psych,  and  Polykon  and  Advanced 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     187 

German,  and  shake  them  as  a  terrier  does  a  rat,  just 
as  soon  as  I  had  finished  about  three  more  hands  of 
whist  —  oh,  well,  there  's  no  use  of  crying  about  it 
now.  What  makes  me  the  maddest  is  that  my  wife 
says  I  'm  an  imposingly  poor  whist  player  at  that. 

Keg  went  home  with  one  of  us  for  the  semester 
holidays.  And  at  commencement  time  he  wrote  an 
affectionate  letter  home  to  his  volcanic  old  sire,  and 
told  him  that  he  was  going  to  stride  forth  into  the 
unappreciative  world  and  yank  a  living  away  from 
it  that  summer.  That  was  the  great  ambition  of 
almost  every  Siwash  boy.  When  we  were  n't  thinking 
of  girls  and  exams  in  the  blissful  spring  days,  we  were 
stalking  some  summer  job  to  its  lair  and  sitting  down 
to  wait  for  it.  There  was  n't  anything  that  a  Siwash 
boy  would  n't  tackle  in  the  summer  vacation.  The 
farmer  boys  had  a  cinch,  of  course.  They  were 
skilled  laborers;  and,  besides,  they  came  back  in 
the  fall  in  perfect  condition  for  the  football  squad. 
Some  of  the  town  boys  became  street-car  conductors. 
The  new  railroad  that  was  built  into  Jonesville  about 
that  time  was  a  bonanza  for  us.  It  was  no  uncommon 
thing,  the  summer  of  my  Sophomore  year,  to  find  a 
dozen  muddy  society  leaders  shoveling  dirt  in  a  con 
struction  crew  and  singing  that  grand  old  hymn  com 
posed  by  Petey  Simmons,  which  ran  as  follows: 

I  've  a  blister  on  me  heel,  and  me  beak 's  begun  to  peel; 

I  've  an  ache  for  every  bone  that 's  in  me  back. 
I  've  a  feeling  I  could  eat  rubber  hose  and  call  it  sweet, 

And  me  hands  is  warped  from  lugging  bits  of  track. 


188  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Oh,   me   closes  they   are  tore,   and  me   shoulders   they   are 
sore, 

And  I  sometimes  wish  that  I  had  died  a  '  horning '; 
And  me  eye  is  full  of  dirt,  and  there  's  gravel  in  me  shirt, 

But  I  'm  going  back  to  Siwash  in  the  mor-r-r-r-r-r-r-rning. 

One  of  our  own  boys  is  a  division  superintendent 
on  one  of  the  big  western  roads  to-day,  and  he  caught 
the  railroad  microbe  in  the  shovel  gang. 

The  boys  got  newspaper  positions  and  clerked  in 
the  stores,  and  one  or  two  of  them  tooted  cornets  or 
other  disturbances  at  summer-resort  hotels.  One 
junior,  during  my  time,  aroused  the  envy  of  the  whole 
college  by  painting  the  steeple  of  the  First  Baptist 
Church  during  vacation;  and  when  he  finished  the 
job  his  class  numerals  were  painted  in  big  letters  on 
top  of  the  ornamental  knob  that  tipped  the  spire.  At 
least,  so  he  announced,  and  no  rival  class  had  the 
nerve  to  investigate. 

But  the  most  popular  road  to  prosperity  during  the 
summer  was  the  canvassing  route.  About  the  last  of 
April  various  smooth  young  college  chaps  from  other 
schools  would  drift  into  Siwash  and  begin  to  sign 
up  agents  for  the  summer.  There  were  three  favorite 
lines  —  books,  stereopticon  slides  and  a  patent  com 
bination  desk,  blackboard,  sewing-table,  snow-shovel, 
trundle-bed  and  ironing-board  —  which  was  sold  in 
vast  numbers  at  that  time  by  students  all  over  the 
country.  All  though  May  the  agents  fished  for  vic 
tims.  They  signed  them  up  with  contracts  guaran 
teeing  them  back-breaking  profits,  and  then  instructed 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     189 

them  with  great  care  in  a  variety  of  speeches.  Speech 
No.  1,  introductory.  Speech  No.  2,  to  women. 
Speech  No.  3,  clinching  talk  -for  waverers.  Speech 
No.  4,  to  parents.  Speech  No.  5,  rebuttal  to  argument 
that  victim  already  has  enough  reading  matter. 
Speech  No.  6,  general  appeal  to  patriotism  and  love 
of  progress.  Then  on  Commencement  day  the  hope 
ful  young  collegians  would  go  forth  to  argue  with  the 
calm  and  unresponsive  farmer's  wife  and  sell  her 
something  that  she  had  never  needed  and  had  never 
wanted,  until  hypnotized  by  the  classic  eloquence  of 
a  bright-eyed  young  man  with  his  foot  in  the  crack 
of  the  half-opened  door. 

I  chose  the  book  game  one  summer,  and  went  out 
with  about  thirty  others.  Twenty-five  of  them  quit  at 
the  end  of  the  first  week.  That  was  about  the  usual 
proportion  —  but  the  rest  of  us  stuck.  I  devastated 
a  swath  of  territory  fifty  miles  wide  and  a  hundred 
miles  long.  I  talked,  argued,  persuaded,  plead, 
threatened  and  mesmerized.  I  sold  books  to  men  on 
twine  binders,  to  women  with  their  hands  in  the 
bread  dough,  and  once,  after  a  farmer  had  come 
grudgingly  out  to  rescue  me  from  his  dog,  I  sold  a 
book  to  him  from  a  tree.  I  worked  two  months, 
tramped  four  hundred  miles,  told  the  same  story  of 
impassioned  praise  for  and  confidence  in  my  book 
eleven  hundred  times,  and  sold  sixty-five  volumes  at  a 
gross  profit  of  seventy-nine  dollars  —  my  expenses 
being  eighty  dollars  even.  But  it  was  worth  the 
effort.  I  was  a  shy  young  thing  at  the  beginning 


190  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

of  the  summer,  who  believed  that  strangers  would 
invariably  bite  when  spoken  to.  When  school  began  I 
was  a  tanned  pirate  who  believed  the  world  belonged 
to  him  who  could  grab  it,  and  who  would  have  walked 
up  to  a  duke  and  sold  him  a  book  on  practical  farming 
with  as  much  assurance  as  if  it  were  a  subposna  I 
was  serving. 

Keg  went  out  with  the  desk  crowd,  and  it  was  evi 
dent  from  the  first  minute  that  he  was  going  to 
return  a  plutocrat.  He  sold  a  desk  to  the  train 
brakeman  on  his  way  to  his  field,  and  another  to 
a  kind  old  gentleman  who  incautiously  got  into  con 
versation  with  him.  He  raged  through  four  counties 
like  a  plague,  selling  desks  in  farmhouses,  public 
libraries,  harness  stores,  banks  and  old  folks'  homes. 
He  was  the  season's  sensation  and  won  a  prize  every 
month  from  the  proud  and  happy  company.  When 
he  had  finished  collecting  he  took  a  hasty  run  to 
Denver  on  a  sight-seeing  trip,  and  came  back  to 
Siwash  that  fall  in  a  parlor  car,  with  something  over 
four  hundred  dollars  in  his  jeans. 

Naturally  we  would  have  ceased  worrying  about 
the  probability  of  keeping  Keg  with  us  then  if  we 
had  not  done  so  long  before.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  was  more  prosperous  than  any  of  us.  He  had 
made  his  own  money  and  he  drew  his  own  checks 
when  he  pleased,  instead  of  taking  them  the  first  of 
the  month  wrapped  up  in  a  cayenne  coating  composed 
of  parental  remarks  on  extravagance  and  laziness. 
He  gave  away  all  of  his  little  jobs  to  the  rest  of  us 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     191 

first  thing,  and  said  he  was  content  with  what  he 
had ;  but,  pshaw !  —  when  a  man  has  the  gift  he  can't 
dodge  prosperity.  Keg  had  to  manage  the  college 
paper  that  year  because  no  one  else  could  do  it  quite 
so  well;  and  it  netted  him  about  fifty  dollars  a 
month.  When  the  glee-club  manager  got  cold  feet 
over  the  poor  prospects,  Keg  backed  a  trip  himself 
—  and  I  hate  to  say  how  much  he  cleared  from  it. 
That  was  the  first  year  we  swept  the  West  with  our 
famous  football  team  of  trained  mastodons;  and  at 
the  earnest  solicitation  of  about  a  dozen  daily  papers 
here  and  there,  Keg  dashed  off  something  like  one 
hundred  yards  of  football  dope  at  five  dollars  a 
column  —  sort  of  a  literary  hundred-yard  dash.  He 
used  to  write  it  between  bites  at  the  dinner  table. 
And  then  to  top  off  everything,  his  precious  desk 
company  came  along  and  stole  him  from  us  early  in 
April.  It  considered  him  too  valuable  a  man  to 
tramp  the  country  selling  desks,  while  there  were 
other  young  collegians  who  only  needed  the  touch  of 
a  magic  tongue  to  get  them  into  the  great  calling. 
So  Keg  made  a  tour  of  Kiowa  and  Muggledorfer  and 
Hambletonian  and  Ogallala  colleges,  lining  up  can 
vassers  at  a  net  profit  of  something  like  fifty  dollars 
per  head  —  full  or  empty.  When  he  blew  in  at  the 
end  of  the  year  to  spend  Commencement  week  with 
us  he  was  nothing  short  of  an  amateur  Cro3sus.  He 
bulged  with  wealth.  I  remember  yet  the  awe  with 
which  the  rest  of  us,  hoarding  our  last  nickels  at  the 
end  of  the  long  and  billful  year,  took  a  peep  at  the 


192  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

balance  in  his  checkbook  and  touched  him  humbly  for 
advances,  great  and  small. 

Keg  had  gone  out  the  second  evening  of  Commence 
ment  week  to  bring  a  little  pleasure  into  the  barren 
life  of  a  girl  who  hadn't  been  shown  any  attention 
by  any  one  for  upward  of  four  hours.  The  rest  of 
the  boys  were  also  away  scattering  seeds  of  kindness 
in  a  similar  manner,  and  so  I  was  alone  when  Pa 
Rearwick  stumped  up  the  walk  to  the  chapter-house 
porch  and  glared  at  me. 

"  I  want  to  see  my  boy,"  he  said,  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  beard.  He  seemed  to  suspect  that  I  had  made 
him  into  a  meat  pie  or  otherwise  done  away  with 
him. 

"  He  's  out,"  I  said,  not  very  scared ;  "  but  if  you 
want  to  wait  for  him,  won't  you  make  yourself  quite 
at  home  ? " 

He  took  a  seat  on  the  porch  without  a  word.  I 
went  on  smoking  a  cigarette  in  my  most  abandoned 
style  and  saying  all  I  had  to  say,  which  was  nothing. 
After  a  while  Pa  Rearick  glared  over  at  me  again 
in  a  most  belligerent  manner. 

"  Is  he  well  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Finer  'n  silk,"  I  answered,  most  disrespectfully. 

"  Humph !  "  said  he ;  which,  being  freely  trans 
lated,  seemed  to  mean :  "  If  I  had  an  impudent,  lazy, 
immoral,  shiftless,  unlicked  cub  like  you,  I  'd  grind 
him  up  for  hen  feed." 

Much  more  silence.    I  lit  another  cigarette. 

"  Does  he  get  enough  to  eat  ?  " 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time     193 

"  When  lie  has  time,"  I  said.  "  He 's  generally 
pretty  busy." 

"  Playing  the  mandolin,  I  suppose." 

"  Most  of  the  time,"  said  I.  "  He  runs  the  college 
in  his  odd  moments." 

"  He  would  n't  have  run  the  Siwash  I  went  to," 
said  Pa  Rearick  grimly. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  you  egregious  timber-head,  he  Jd 
have  spent  his  time  limping  after  Homer."  But  as 
I  said  it  only  to  myself,  no  one  was  insulted. 

"  Has  he  learned  anything  ?  "  said  old  Hostilities, 
after  some  more  silence. 

"  Took  the  Sophomore  Greek  prize  this  year,"  I 
said,  blowing  one  of  the  most  perfect  smoke  rings  I 
had  ever  achieved. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Pa  Eearick  deliberately. 

I  blew  another  ring  that  was  very  fair,  but  it 
lacked  the  perfect  double  whirl  of  the  first  one.  And 
presently  the  neatest  spider  phaeton  that  was  owned 
by  a  Jonesville  livery  stable  drew  up  before  the  house 
and  Keg  jumped  out,  telling  a  delicious  chiffon  vision 
to  hold  old  Bucephalus  until  he  got  his  topcoat.  Keg 
was  a  good  dresser,  but  I  never  saw  him  quite  as 
letter-perfect  and  wholly  immaculate  as  he  was  just 
then.  He  hurried  up  the  steps,  took  one  look,  and 
yelled  "  Dad,"  then  made  a  rush ;  and  I  went  inside 
to  see  if  I  could  n't  beat  that  smoke  ring  where  there 
was  not  so  much  atmospheric  disturbance. 


194  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Pa  Rearick  stayed  the  rest  of  the  week,  and  after 
he  had  interviewed  certain  professors  the  next  day 
he  moved  over  to  the  house  and  stayed  with  us.  Mrs. 
Rearick  came  down,  too,  and  on  this  account  we 
did  n't  see  quite  as  much  of  Keg  as  we  had  hoped  to. 
The  girl  in  chiffon  did  n't,  either,  but  that 's  neither 
here  nor  there.  She  was  only  a  passing  fancy,  any 
way.  By  successive  degrees  Keg's  father  viewed  the 
rest  of  us  with  disapproval,  suspicion,  tolerance,  be 
nevolence,  interest  and  friendliness.  But  I  am  con 
vinced  that  it  was  only  on  Keg's  account.  He  gave  us 
credit  for  exercising  unexpected  good  taste  in  liking 
him.  And  maybe  it  was  n't  interesting  to  see  him 
thaw  and  melt  and  struggle  with  a  stiff,  wintry  smile, 
as  a  young  man  does  with  his  first  mustache,  and 
finally  give  himself  up  unreservedly  to  fatherly  pride. 
When  a  father  has  religiously  put  away  these  things 
all  his  life  for  fear  of  spoiling  a  son,  and  finally  finds 
that  that  son  is  unspoilable,  even  by  friendliness  and 
parental  tenderness,  he  has  a  lot  of  pleasure  to  indulge 
himself  in  during  his  remaining  years. 

It  was  like  the  old  fire-eater  to  call  us  together 
before  he  went  and  punished  himself.  I  suppose  it  was 
his  sense  of  justice  which  was  too  keen  for  any  good 
use.  "  I  've  misjudged  my  son,"  he  said  to  us ;  "  and 
I  want  to  make  public  admission  of  it.  I  am  perhaps 
a  little  out  of  date  —  a  little  old-fashioned.  The 
world  did  n't  move  so  fast  when  I  was  a  boy  here. 
When  I  was  in  school  we  saved  our  money  and 
studied.  My  son  tells  me  he  can't  afford  to  save 


Taking  Pace  From  Father  Time      195 

money  —  that  time  is  too  precious.  I  don't  pretend 
to  understand  all  your  ways,  but  he  seems  to  think 
you  have  been  good  to  him  and  I  want  to  thank  you 
for  it.  My  son  has  made  his  way  alone  these  two 
years.  I  threw  him  out  to  support  himself.  When 
I  casually  mentioned  yesterday  that  times  were  very 
hard  in  the  business  just  now,  he  wanted  to  put  five 
hundred  dollars  into  it.  I  want  you  to  know  I  'm 
proud  of  him.  I  hope  you  young  gentlemen  will  feel 
free  to  stop  and  visit  us  when  you  come  through  our 
town.  I  must  say,  times  seem  to  have  changed." 

Right  he  was.  Times  have  changed.  And  here  I 
have  been  dunderheading  along  in  just  his  way, 
imagining  that  I  was  pacing  them,  instead  of  sitting 
on  the  fence  and  watching  them  go  by.  If  I  can 
find  that  little  Sophomore  who  insulted  me  this  morn 
ing,  I  'm  going  to  make  him  come  to  dinner  and 
tell  me  some  more  about  the  way  they  do  things  this 
afternoon.  As  for  to-morrow  —  what  does  he  or  any 
one  else  know  about  it  ? 


CHAPTEK   VIII 

FKAPPED  FOOTBALL 

AS  a  rule  there  is  only  about  one  thing  to  mar 
-£^-the  joy  of  college  days  and  nights  and  early 
mornings.  That  is  the  Faculty.  Honestly,  I  used 
to  sit  up  until  long  after  bedtime  every  little  while 
trying  to  figure  out  some  real  reason  for  a  college 
Faculty.  They  interfere  so.  They  are  so  inappro 
priate.  Moreover,  they  are  so  confoundedly  ignorant 
of  college  life. 

How  a  professor  can  go  through  an  assorted  col 
lection  of  brain  stufferies,  get  so  many  college  degrees 
that  his  name  looks  like  Halley's  Comet  with  an 
alphabet  tail,  and  then  teach  college  students  for 
forty  years  without  even  taking  one  of  them  apart 
to  find  out  what  he  is  made  of,  beats  my  time! 
That  'a  a  college  professor  for  you,  right  through.  He 
thinks  of  a  college  student  only  as  something  to  teach 
—  whereas,  of  all  the  nineteen  hundred  and  eighty- 
seven  things  a  college  student  is,  that  is  about  the  least 
important  to  his  notion.  A  boy  might  be  a  cipher 
message  on  an  early  Assyrian  brick  and  stand  a  far 
better  chance  of  being  understood  by  his  professor. 

A  college  Faculty  is  a  collection  of  brains  tied 


Frapp6d  FootbaU  197 

together  by  a  firm  resolve  —  said  resolve  being  to 
find  out  what  miscreant  put  plaster  of  Paris  in  the 
keyhole  of  the  president's  door.  It  is  a  wet  blanket 
on  a  joyous  life ;  it  is  a  sort  of  penance  provided 
by  Providence  to  make  a  college  boy  forget  that  he  's 
glad  he  'a  alive.  It 's  a  hypodermic  syringe  through 
which  the  student  is  supposed  to  get  wisdom.  It 
takes  the  place  of  conscience  after  you  've  been  de 
stroying  college  property.  When  I  sum  it  all  up  it 
seems  to  me  that  a  college  Faculty  is  a  dark,  rainy 
cloud  in  the  middle  of  a  beautiful  May  morning  — 
at  least  that 's  the  way  the  Faculty  looked  to  me 
when  I  was  a  humble  seeker  after  the  truth  in  Siwash 
College. 

The  Faculty  was  to  boys  in  Siwash  what  indigestion 
is  to  a  jolly  good  fellow  in  the  restaurant  district. 
It  was  always  either  among  us  or  getting  ready  to  land 
on  us.  Our  Faculty  had  thirty-two  profs  and  thirty- 
three  pairs  of  spectacles.  It  also  had  two  good  average 
heads  of  hair  and  considerable  whiskers.  It  could 
figure  out  a  perihelion  or  a  Latin  bill-of-fare  in  a 
minute,  but  you  ought  to  hear  it  stutter  when  it  tried 
to  map  out  the  daily  relaxations  of  a  college  full  of 
husky  young  hurricanes,  who  had  come  to  school  to 
learn  what  life  looks  like  from  the  inside.  Fairy 
tales  in  the  German  and  tea  and  wafers  with  quo 
tations  looked  like  a  jolly  good  time  to  the  Faculty; 
and  it  could  n't  understand  why  some  of  us  liked 
to  put  gunpowder  in  the  tea. 

Now  don't  understand  me  to  say  that  there  isn't 


198  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

anything  good  about  a  college  professor.  Bless  you, 
no !  There  's  a  lot  of  it.  A  Faculty  is  a  lot  of  col 
lege  profs  in  a  state  of  inflammation,  but  individually 
most  of  the  Siwash  profs  were  nearly  human  at  times. 
I  look  back  at  some  of  them  now  with  awe.  They 
really  knew  a  lot.  They  knew  so  much  that  most  of 
them  are  there  yet;  and  I  go  back  and  look  at  them 
with  a  good  deal  more  respect  than  I  used  to  have. 
I  '11  tell  you  it  fills  a  chap  with  awe  to  see  a  man 
teaching  along  for  twenty  years  at  eighteen  hundred 
dollars  per,  and  raising  children,  and  buying  books, 
and  going  off  to  Europe  now  and  then  on  that  princely 
sum  —  and  coming  through  it  all  happy  and  content 
with  life.  I  go  around  them  nowadays  with  my  hat 
off  and  try  to  persuade  them  that  if  it  wasn't  for 
my  sprained  arm  I  could  quote  Latin  almost  as  well 
as  the  stone  dog  in  front  of  Prexy's  house. 

And  some  of  them  are  bully  good  fellows,  too. 
Nowadays  they  take  me  into  their  studies  at  Com 
mencement  and  give  me  good  cigars,  making  sure 
first  that  there  are  no  undergraduates  around.  Why, 
one  of  the  profs  I  worried  the  most,  when  I  was  a 
cross  between  a  Sophomore  and  a  spotted  hyena,  is 
as  glad  to  see  me  nowadays  as  though  I  owed  him 
money.  He  runs  a  little  automobile,  and  I  hope  I 
may  get  laid  out  in  the  subway  if  I  have  n't  heard 
him  cuss  in  real  United  States  when  the  clutch 
slipped.  And  he  was  the  chap  who  used  to  pick  out 
the  passages  in  Livy  that  had  inflammatory  rheuma 
tism  and  make  me  recite  on  them,  and  who  always  told 


Frapped  Football  199 

me  that  a  student  who  smoked  cigarettes  would  be 
making  a  wise  business  move  if  he  brought  his  hat  to 
recitation  and  left  the  less  important  part  of  his 
head  at  home. 

But,  as  I  was  saying,  the  Faculty  at  Siwash,  like 
all  other  Faculties,  did  n't  know  its  place.  It  was  n't 
satisfied  with  teaching  us  Greek  and  Latin  and  Evi 
dences  of  Christianity  and  tall-brow  twaddle  of  all 
sorts.  It  had  to  butt  into  our  athletics  and  regulate 
them.  Did  you  ever  see  a  farmer  regulate  a  weed 
patch  with  a  hoe?  You  know  how  unhealthy  it  is 
for  the  weeds.  Well,  that  was  the  way  the  Faculty 
regulated  our  athletics.  It  did  n't  believe  in  athletics 
anyway.  They  were  too  interesting.  They  might 
not  have  been  sinful,  but  they  were  not  literary  and 
they  were  uneconomic.  Of  course  all  the  professors 
admitted  that  good  outdoor  exercise  was  healthy 
for  college  boys,  but  most  of  them  believed  that  you 
ought  to  get  it  in  the  college  library  out  of  JSTature 
books.  And  so  the  way  they  went  at  the  real  athletics, 
to  keep  them  pure  and  healthful,  almost  drove  us 
into  the  violent  ward. 

Those  were  the  days  at  Siwash  when  our  football 
team  could  start  out  for  a  pleasant  stroll  through 
any  teams  in  our  section  and  wonder  after  it  had 
passed  the  goal  line,  why  those  undersized  fellows 
had  been  jogging  their  elbows  all  the  way  down  the 
field.  That  was  the  kind  of  a  team  we  built  up 
every  fall ;  and  it  was  n't  half  so  much  trouble  to 
keep  other  teams  from  beating  it  as  it  was  to  keep 


200  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

the  Faculty  from  blowing  it  to  pieces  with  non- 
eligibility  notices.  There  was  something  diabolical 
about  that  Faculty  when  it  was  wrestling  with  the 
athletic  problem.  It  was  n't  human.  It  was  like 
Mount  Etna.  You  never  could  tell  just  when  it 
would  stop  being  lovely  and  quiet,  and  scatter  ruin 
all  over  the  vicinity. 

Its  idea  of  regulating  athletics  at  Siwash  was 
to  think  up  excuses  for  flunking  every  man  who 
weighed  over  one  hundred  and  fifty-five  and  could 
have  his  toes  stepped  on  without  saying  "  Ouch !  " 
And  it  never  got  the  excuses  thought  up  until  the 
night  before  the  most  important  games.  The  Faculty 
pretended  to  be  as  bland  and  innocent  as  Mary's 
lamb,  but  no  one  can  ever  tell  me  it  didn't  know 
what  it  was  about  Men  have  to  have  real  genius 
to  think  up  the  things  it  did.  You  could  n't  do  it 
accidentally.  When  a  Siwash  Faculty  could  moon 
along  happily  all  fall  until  twenty-four  hours  before 
the  Kiowa  game  and  then  discover  with  regret  that 
our  two-hundred-and-twenty-pound  center  had  mis 
spelled  three  words  in  an  examination  paper  the  year 
before ;  that  our  two-hundred-pound  backs  did  n't 
put  enough  rear-end  collisions  into  their  words  when 
they  read  French;  and  that  Ole  Skjarsen  read  Latin 
with  a  Norwegian  accent  and  was  therefore  too  big 
an  ignoramus  to  play  football,  I  decline  to  be  fooled. 
I  never  was  fooled.  Neither  was  Keg  Rearick.  But 
that  is  hurdling  about  three  chapters. 

Honestly,  we  used  to  spend  one  day  out  of  six 


Frapp6d  Football  201 

building  up  our  football  team  and  the  other  five 
defending  it  from  the  Faculty.  It  positively  hun 
gered  for  a  bite  out  of  the  line-up.  It  had  us  help 
less.  If  we  did  n't  like  the  way  it  ran  things  we 
could  take  our  happy  young  college  life  up  by  the 
roots  and  transplant  it  to  some  other  school,  where 
the  football  team  moved  around  the  field  like  a  parade. 
Theoretically  the  Faculty  could  sit  around  and  take 
our  best  players  off  the  team,  as  fast  as  we  developed 
them,  for  non-attention  to  studies.  But,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  was  n't  an  easy  matter.  It  beats  all  how 
early  in  the  morning  you  have  to  get  up  to  get  ahead 
of  college  lads  who  have  got  it  into  their  heads  that 
the  world  will  gum  up  on  its  axle  and  stop  dead  still 
if  their  innocent  little  pleasures  are  interfered  with. 
I  remember  the  fall  that  the  Faculty  decided 
Miller  could  n't  play  because  he  had  n't  attended 
chapel  quite  persistently  enough  the  spring  before. 
Miller  was  our  center  and  as  important  to  the  team 
that  year  as  the  mainspring  of  a  watch.  The  pon 
derous  brain  trust  that  sat  on  this  case  did  n't  decide 
it  until  the  day  before  the  big  game  with  Muggle- 
dorfer;  then  they  practically  ruled  that  he  would 
have  to  go  back  to  last  spring  and  take  his  chapel 
all  over  again.  It  took  us  all  night  to  sidestep  that 
outrage,  but  we  did  it.  The  next  morning  an  in 
dignation  committee  of  fifty  students  met  the  Faculty 
and  presented  alibis  that  were  invincible.  It  was 
demonstrated  by  a  cloud  of  witnesses  that  Miller 
had  been  absent  nine  times  hand-running  because  he 


202  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

had  been  sitting  up  nights  with  a  sick  chum.  The 
Faculty  was  inexperienced  that  year  and  let  him 
play;  but,  when  it  found  out  the  next  day  by  con 
sulting  the  records  that  the  chum  had  attended  chapel 
every  one  of  those  nine  mornings,  it  got  more  par 
ticular  than  ever  and  its  heart  seemed  to  harden. 

On  the  day  before  the  Thanksgiving  game  that  year 
the  Faculty  held  a  long  meeting  and  decided  that 
our  two  guards  were  ineligible.  There  was  n't  a 
word  of  truth  in  it.  They  weighed  two  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds  apiece  and  were  eligible  to  the 
All- American  team,  but  you  could  n't  make  the  human 
lexicons  look  at  it  that  way.  They  found  them  de 
ficient  in  trigonometry  and  canned  them  off  the  team. 
It  was  an  outrage,  because  the  two  chaps  did  n't  know 
what  trigonometry  meant  even  and  could  n't  take  an 
examination.  We  had  to  call  the  trig,  professor  out 
of  town  by  a  telegram  that  morning  and  then  have 
the  suspended  men  demand  an  immediate  examina 
tion.  That  worked,  too ;  but  every  time  we  managed 
to  preserve  a  glory  of  old  Siwash,  the  Faculty  seemed 
to  get  a  little  more  crabby  and  unreasonable  and 
diabolically  persisted  in  its  determination  to  regulate 
athletics. 

The  next  fall  it  was  well  understood  when  football 
practice  began  that  there  was  going  to  be  war  to 
the  knife  between  the  Faculty  and  the  football  team. 
We  were  meek  and  resigned  to  trouble,  but  you  can 
bet  we  were  not  going  to  sit  around  and  embrace  it. 
The  longest  heads  in  the  school  made  themselves  into 


Frapp6d  FootbaU  203 

a  sort  of  an  unofficial  sidestepping  committee;  and 
we  decided  that  if  the  Faculty  succeeded  in  massacring 
our  football  team  they  would  have  to  outpoint,  out- 
foot,  outflank  and  outscheme  the  whole  school.  Just 
to  draw  their  fire,  we  advertised  the  first  practice 
game  as  a  deadly  combat,  in  which  the  honor  of 
Old  Si  wash  was  at  stake.  It  was  just  a  little  romp 
with  the  State  Normal,  which  had  a  team  that  would 
have  had  to  use  aeroplanes  to  get  past  our  ends ;  but 
the  Faculty  bit.  It  held  a  special  session  that  night 
and  declared  the  center,  the  two  backs  and  the  cap 
tain  ineligible  because  they  had  not  prepared  orations 
the  spring  before  at  the  request  of  the  rhetoric  pro 
fessor.  That  was  first  blood  for  us.  We  chased  the 
Normalites  all  over  the  lot  with  a  scrub  team  and 
Keg  Rearick  sat  up  nights  the  next  week  writing  the 
orations.  The  result  was  we  got  four  fine  new  dry- 
cleaned  records  for  our  four  star  players  and  the 
Faculty  was  so  pleased  with  their  fine  work  on  those 
orations  that  we  could  scarcely  live  with  it  for  a 
week. 

That  was  only  a  skirmish,  however.  We  knew 
very  well  that  the  sacred  cause  of  education  would 
come  right  back  at  us  and  we  decided  to  be  else 
where  when  it  struck  its  next  blow  for  progress. 
We  talked  it  all  over  with  Bost,  the  coach,  and  the 
result  was  that  a  week  before  the  Muggledorf er  game, 
the  last  week  in  September,  Bost  gave  out  his  line-up 
for  the  season  in  chapel.  There  were  a  good  many 
surprises  in  the  line-up  to  some  of  us.  It  seemed 


204  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

funny  that  Miller  should  n't  make  the  team  out  and 
that  Ole  Skjarsen  should  have  been  left  off;  but 
the  best  of  men  will  slump,  as  Bost  explained,  and  he 
had  picked  the  team  that  he  thought  would  do  the 
most  good  for  Siwash.  It  was  a  team  that  I  would  n't 
have  hired  to  chase  a  Shanghai  rooster  out  of  a  gar 
den  patch,  but  the  blind  and  happy  Faculty  did  n't 
stop  to  reason  about  its  excellence.  It  held  a  meet 
ing  the  night  before  the  Muggledorfer  game  and 
suspended  nine  of  the  men  for  inattention  to  chapel, 
smoking  cigarettes  during  vacation  and  other  high 
crimes.  The  whole  school  roared  with  indignation. 
Bost  appeared  before  the  Faculty  meeting  and  almost 
shook  his  fist  in  Prexy's  face.  He  told  the  Faculty 
that  it  was  the  greatest  crime  of  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury;  and  the  Faculty  told  him  in  very  high-class 
language  to  go  chase  himself.  So  Bost  went  sorrow 
fully  out  and  put  in  the  regular  team  as  substitutes. 
The  next  day  we  whipped  Muggledorfer  80  to  0. 

I  think  that  would  have  discouraged  the  Faculty 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Professor  Sillcocks.  Did  I 
ever  tell  you  about  Professor  Sillcocks  ?  It 's  a  shame 
if  I  have  n't,  because  every  one  is  the  better  and 
nobler  for  hearing  about  him.  He  was  about  a 
nickel's  worth  of  near-man  with  Persian-lamb  whis 
kers  and  the  disposition  of  a  pint  of  modified  milk. 
Crickets  were  bold  and  quarrelsome  beside  him.  He 
knew  more  musty  history  than  any  one  in  the  state 
and  he  could  without  flinching  tell  how  Alexander 
waded  over  his  knees  in  blood;  but  rather  than  take 


V<4- 


Our  peculiar  style  of  pushing  a  football  right  through 
the  thorax  of  the  whole  middle  west 

Page  205 


Frapp6d  FootbaU  205 

off  his  coat  where  the  world  would  have  seen  him 
he  would  have  died.  He  was  just  that  modest  and 
conventional.  He  had  to  come  to  his  classes  through 
the  back  of  the  campus  up  the  hill ;  and  they  do  say 
that  one  day,  when  half  a  dozen  of  the  Kappa  Kap 
Pa  jama  girls  were  sitting  on  the  low  stone  wall  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  swinging  their  feet,  he  cruised 
about  the  horizon  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  waiting 
for  them  to  go  away  in  order  that  he  might  go  up 
the  hill  without  scorching  his  collar  with  blushes. 
That  was  the  kind  of  a  roaring  lion  Professor  Sill- 
cocks  was. 

Well,  to  get  back  from  behind  Robin  Hood's  barn, 
Professor  Sillcocks  had  a  great  hobby.  He  believed 
that  college  boys  should  indulge  in  athletics,  but  that 
they  should  do  it  with  their  fingers  crossed.  Those 
were  n't  his  exact  words,  but  that  was  what  he  meant. 
It  was  noble  to  play  games,  but  wicked  to  want  to 
win.  In  his  eyes  a  true  sport  was  a  man  who  would 
start  in  a  foot  race  and  come  in  half  a  mile  behind 
carrying  the  other  fellow's  coat.  Our  peculiar  style 
of  pushing  a  football  right  through  the  thorax  of 
the  whole  Middle  West  nearly  made  him  shudder 
his  shoes  off  and  every  fall  in  chapel  he  delivered 
a  talk  against  the  reprehensible  state  of  mind  that 
finds  pleasure  in  the  defeat  of  others.  We  always 
cheered  those  talks,  which  pleased  him ;  but  he  never 
could  understand  why  we  did  n't  go  out  afterward 
and  -offer  ourselves  up  to  some  high-school  team  as 
victims.  It  pained  him  greatly. 


206  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Naturally  Professor  Sillcocks  participated  with 
great  enthusiasm  in  the  work  of  pruning  our  line-up, 
and  after  the  Faculty  had  thrown  up  its  hands  he 
climbed  right  in  and  led  a  new  campaign.  We  had 
to  admire  the  scientific  way  in  which  he  went  about 
it,  too.  For  a  man  whose  most  violent  exercise  con 
sisted  of  lugging  books  off  a  top  shelf,  and  who  had 
learned  all  he  knew  about  football  from  the  Literary 
Pepsin  or  the  Bi- Weekly  Review,  he  got  onto  the 
game  in  wonderful  style.  Somehow  he  managed  to 
learn  just  who  were  our  star  players  —  what  they 
played  and  how  badly  they  were  needed  —  and  then 
he  went  to  work  to  quarantine  these  players. 

First  thing  we  knew  the  Millersburg  game,  which 
was  always  a  fierce  affair,  arrived ;  and  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  game  Bumpus  and  Van  Eiswaggon,  our 
two  star  halfbacks,  got  notices  to  forget  there  was 
such  a  game  as  football  until  they  had  taken  Fresh 
man  Greek  over  again  —  they  being  Seniors  and  re 
membering  about  as  much  Greek  as  their  hats  would 
hold  on  a  windy  day.  I  '11  tell  you  that  mighty  near 
floored  us;  but  virtue  will  pretty  nearly  always  tri 
umph,  and  when  you  mix  a  little  luck  into  it,  it  is  as 
slippery  to  corner  as  a  corporation  lawyer.  We  had 
the  luck.  There  were  two  big  boners,  Pacey  and 
Driggs,  in  college  who  wore  whiskers.  There  always 
are  one  or  two  landscape  artists  in  college  who 
use  their  faces  as  alfalfa  farms.  We  took  Bumpus 
and  Van  Eiswaggon  and  the  leading  man  of  a  com 
pany  that  was  playing  at  the  opera  house  that  night 


Frapp6d  Football  207 

over  to  these  two  Napoleons  of  mattress  stuffing  and 
they  kindly  consented  to  be  imitated  for  one  day  only. 
Old  Booth  and  Barrett  had  a  tremendous  layout  of 
whiskers  in  his  valise  and  before  he  got  through  he 
had  produced  a  couple  of  mighty  close  copies  of 
Pacey  and  Driggs.  That  afternoon  the  two  real 
whisker  kings  went  out  in  football  suits  and  ran 
signals  with  the  team  until  their  wind  was  gone. 
Then  they  went  back  into  the  gym  and  their  improved 
editions  came  out.  Most  of  the  college  cried  when 
they  found  that  the  two  eminent  authorities  on  ton- 
sorial  art  were  going  to  try  to  interfere  with  Millers- 
burg's  ambition,  but  those  of  us  who  were  on  to  the 
deal  simply  prayed.  We  prayed  that  the  whiskers 
would  n't  come  off.  They  did  n't,  either.  It  was  a 
grand  game.  We  won,  20  to  0;  and  the  school  went 
wild  over  Pacey  and  Driggs.  Even  Prexy  came  out 
of  it  for  a  little  while  and  went  into  the  gym  to 
shake  hands  with  them.  It  took  lively  work  to  detain 
him  until  we  could  get  them  stripped  and  laid  out 
on  the  rubbing  boards.  They  were  the  heroes  of 
the  school  for  the  rest  of  the  year  and,  being  honest 
chaps,  they  naturally  objected.  But  we  persuaded 
them  that  they  had  saved  the  college  with  their 
whiskers ;  and  before  they  graduated  we  begged  a 
bunch  from  each  of  them  to  frame  and  hang  up  in 
the  gym  some  day  when  the  incident  was  n't  quite 
so  fresh. 

Naturally,    by   this    time,    we   believed   that   the 
Faculty  ought  to  consider  itself  lucky  to  be  allowed 


208  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

to  hang  around  the  college.  Professor  Sillcocks 
looked  rather  depressed  for  a  day  or  two,  but  he  soon 
cheered  up  and  seemed  to  forget  the  team's  existence. 
We  swam  right  along,  beating  Pottawattamie,  scoring 
sixty  points  on  Ogallala  and  getting  into  magnificent 
condition  for  the  Kiowa  game  on  Thanksgiving, 
That  was  the  game  of  the  year  for  us.  Time  was 
when  Kiowa  used  to  beat  us  and  look  bored  about 
it,  but  that  was  all  in  the  misty  past.  For  two  years 
we  had  tramped  all  the  lime  off  her  goal  lines;  and 
maybe  we  were  n't  crazy  to  do  it  again !  As  early  as 
October  we  used  to  sit  up  nights  talking  over  our 
chances,  and  as  November  wore  along  the  suspense 
got  as  painful  as  a  good  lively  case  of  too  much 
pie.  We  watched  the  team  practise  all  day  and 
dreamed  of  it  all  night.  And  then  the  blow  fell. 

It  wasn't  exactly  a  blow.  It  was  more  like  a 
dynamite  explosion.  School  let  out  the  day  before 
Thanksgiving,  and  when  announcement  time  came  in 
chapel  Professor  Sillcocks  got  up  and  begged  per 
mission  to  make  a  few  remarks.  Then  this  little 
ninety-eight-pound  thinking  machine,  who  could  n't 
have  wrestled  a  kitten  successfully,  paralyzed  half 
a  thousand  husky  young  students  and  a  whole  team 
of  gladiators  with  the  following  remarks: 

"  I  have  long  held,  young  gentlemen,  that  the  pur 
suit  of  athletic  exercises  for  the  mere  lust  of  winning 
is  one  of  the  evils  of  college  life.  It  does  not 
strengthen  the  mind  or  build  up  one's  manhood.  It 
does  not  encourage  that  sporting  spirit  which  leads 


Frapped  Football  209 

a  man  to  smile  in  defeat  or  to  give  up  his  chances 
of  winning  rather  than  take  an  undue  advantage.  It 
does  not  make  for  gentleness,  mildness  or  generosity. 
I  have,  young  gentlemen,  endeavored  to  make  you  see 
this  in  the  past  year  by  all  the  poor  means  at  my 
disposal.  I  have  not  succeeded.  But  this  morning 
I  propose  to  bring  it  to  you  in  a  new  way.  As  chair 
man  of  the  credentials  committee  which  passes  upon 
the  eligibility  of  your  football  players  I  have  decided 
that  the  entire  team  is  ineligible.  If  you  ask  for 
reasons,  I  have  them.  They  may  not,  perhaps,  suit 
you,  but  they  suit  me.  These  players  are  ineligible 
because  they  play  too  well.  With  them  you  cannot 
hope  to  be  defeated  and  I  am  determined  that  the 
Siwash  football  team  shall  be  defeated  to-morrow. 
Your  college  experience  must  be  broadened.  Your 
football  team,  I  understand,  has  not  been  defeated 
in  three  years.  This  is  monstrous.  All  of  you,  except 
the  Seniors,  are  totally  uneducated  in  the  art  of  tak 
ing  defeat.  This  education  I  propose  to  open  to  you 
to-morrow.  I  have  made  it  more  certain  by  suspend 
ing  all  of  what  you  call  your  second  team  and  your 
scrubs  —  I  believe  that  is  correct.  And  the  Faculty 
joins  me,  young  gentlemen,  in  assuring  you  that  if 
the  game  with  Kiowa  College  is  abandoned  —  abro 
gated  —  called  off,  I  believe  you  express  it  —  football 
will  cease  permanently  at  Siwash.  Young  gentlemen, 
accept  defeat  to-morrow  as  an  opportunity  and  try 
to  appreciate  its  great  benefits.  That  is  all." 

That  last  was  pure  sarcasm.     Imagine  an  execu- 


210  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

tioner  carving  off  his  victim's  head  and  murmuring 
politely,  "  That  is  all,"  to  the  said  victim  when  he 
had  finished !  There  we  were,  wiped  out,  utterly  ex 
tinguished —  legislated  into  disgrace  and  defeat  — 
and  all  by  a  smiling  villain  who  said  "  That  is  all " 
when  he  had  read  the  death  sentence ! 

There  was  n't  a  loophole  in  the  decree.  Sillcocks 
had  carved  the  entire  football  talent  of  the  school  right 
out  of  it  with  that  little  list  of  his.  We  would  have 
to  play  Kiowa  with  a  bunch  of  rah-rah  boys  who  had 
never  done  anything  more  violent  than  break  a  cane 
on  a  grandstand  seat  over  a  touchdown.  The  chaps 
who  were  butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday  did  n't 
have  anything  at  all  on  us.  We  were  going  to  be 
tramped  all  over  by  our  deadly  rival  in  order  to 
afford  pleasure  to  a  fuzzy-faced  old  fossil  who  had 
peculiar  ideas  and  had  us  to  try  them  out  on. 

I  guess,  if  the  students  had  had  a  vote  on  it  that 
day,  Professor  Sillcocks  would  have  been  elected 
resident  governor  of  Vesuvius.  We  seethed  all  day 
and  all  that  night.  The  board  of  strategy  met,  of 
course,  but  it  threw  up  its  hands.  It  did  n't  have  any 
first  aid  to  the  annihilated  in  its  chest.  Besides,  Pro 
fessor  Sillcocks  had  n't  played  the  game.  He  had  just 
grabbed  the  cards.  It  was  about  to  pass  resolutions 
hailing  Sillcocks  as  the  modern  Nero,  when  Rearick 
began  to  come  down  with  an  idea.  Nowadays  people 
pay  him  five  thousand  dollars  apiece  for  ideas,  but 
he  used  to  fork  them  out  to  us  gratis  —  and  they  had 
twice  the  candle-power.  As  soon  as  we  saw  Rearick 


Frapped  Football  211 

begin  to  perspire  we  just  knocked  off  and  sat  around, 
and  it  was  n't  two  minutes  before  he  was  making 
a  speech. 

"  Fellows,"  he  said,  "  we  're  due  for  a  cleaning 
to-morrow.  It 's  official.  The  Faculty  has  ordered 
it.  If  I  had  a  Faculty  I  'd  put  kerosene  on  it  and 
call  the  health  department ;  but  that 's  neither  here 
nor  there.  We  Ve  got  to  lose.  We  've  got  to  let 
Kiowa  roll  us  all  over  the  field;  and  if  we 
back  out  we  Ve  got  to  give  up  football.  Now 
some  of  you  want  to  resign  from  college  and  some 
of  you  want  to  burn  the  chapel,  but  these  things 
will  not  do  you  any  good.  Kiowa  will  beat  us  just 
the  same.  Therefore  I  propose  that  if  we  have  to  be 
beaten  we  make  it  so  emphatic  that  no  one  will  ever 
forget  it.  Let 's  make  it  picturesque  and  instructive. 
Let 's  show  the  Faculty  that  we  can  obey  orders. 
Let 's  play  a  game  of  football  the  way  Sillcocks  and 
his  tools  would  like  to  see  it.  You  let  me  pick  the 
team  now,  and  give  me  to-night  and  to-morrow  morn 
ing  to  drill  them,  and  I  '11  bet  Kiowa  will  never  burn 
any  property  celebrating." 

Bost  was  there  with  his  head  down  between  his 
knees  and  he  said  he  did  n't  care  —  Rearick  or  Sill- 
cocks  or  his  satanic  majesty  could  pick  the  team.  As 
for  himself,  he  was  going  to  leave  college  and  go  to 
herding  hens  somewhere  over  two  thousand  miles 
from  the  Faculty.  So  we  left  it  to  Rearick  and  went 
home  to  sleep  and  dream  murderous  dreams  about 
meeting  profs  in  lonesome  places. 


212  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

The  first  thing  I  saw  next  morning  when  I  went 
out  of  the  house  was  a  handbill  on  a  telegraph  pole. 
It  was  printed  in  red  ink.  It  implored  every  Siwash 
student  to  turn  out  to  the  game  that  afternoon. 
"  New  team  —  new  rules  —  new  results !  "  it  read. 
"  The  celebrated  Sillcocks  system  of  football  will  be 
played  by  the  Siwash  team.  Attendance  at  this  game 
counts  five  chapel  cuts  after  Thanksgiving.  Admis 
sion  free.  Tea  will  be  served.  You  are  requested 
to  be  present." 

Were  we  present?  We  were  —  every  one  of  us 
that  was  n't  tied  down  to  a  bed.  There  was  some 
thing  promising  in  that  announcement.  Besides,  the 
greenest  of  us  were  taken  in  by  that  chapel-cut  busi 
ness.  Besides,  it  was  free!  College  students  are  just 
like  the  rest  of  the  world.  They  'd  go  to  their  great- 
grandmother's  funeral  if  the  admission  was  free. 
Our  gang  put  on  big  crepe  bows,  just  to  be  doing 
something,  and  marched  into  the  stadium  that  after 
noon  with  hats  off.  It  was  packed.  Talk  about  pro 
motion  work.  Rearick  had  pasted  up  bills  until  all 
Jonesville  was  red  in  the  face.  And  the  Faculty  was 
there,  too.  Every  member  was  present.  They  sat  in 
a  big  special  box  and  Sillcocks  had  the  seat  of  honor. 
He  looked  as  pleased  as  though  he  had  just  reformed 
a  cannibal  tribe.  I  suppose  the  programs  did  it. 
They  announced  once  more  that  the  celebrated  Sill- 
cocks  system  of  football  as  worked  out  by  the  coach 
and  Mr.  Keg  Rearick  would  be  played  in  this  game 
by  the  Siwash  team.  The  whole  town  was  there  too, 


Frapp6d  FootbaU  213 

congested  with  curiosity.  In  one  big  bunch  sat  all 
the  Siwash  men  who  had  ever  played  football,  in  their 
best  clothes  and  with  their  best  girls.  They  were  the 
guests  of  honor  at  their  own  funeral. 

The  Kiowa  team  came  trotting  out  —  behemoths, 
all  of  them  —  ready  to  get  revenge  for  three  painful 
years.  They  had  heard  all  about  the  massacre  and 
regarded  it  as  the  joke  of  the  century  on  Siwash. 
They  also  regarded  it  as  their  providential  duty  to 
emphasize  the  joke  —  to  sharpen  up  the  point  by  scor 
ing  about  a  hundred  and  ten  points  on  the  scared 
young  greenhorns  who  would  have  to  play  for  us.  All 
our  ex-players  stood  up  and  gave  them  a  big  cheer 
when  they  came.  So  did  everybody  else.  It 's  always 
a  matter  of  policy  to  grin  and  joke  while  you  're  being 
dissected.  Nothing  like  cheerfulness.  Cheerfulness 
saved  many  a  martyr  from  worry  while  he  was  being 
eaten  by  a  lion. 

Then  our  gymnasium  doors  opened  and  the  brand- 
new  and  totally  innocent  Siwash  football  team  came 
forth.  When  we  saw  it  we  forgot  all  about  Kiowa, 
the  Faculty,  defeat,  dishonor,  the  black  future  and 
the  disgusting  present.  We  stood  up  and  yelled 
ourselves  hoarse.  Then  we  sat  down  and  prepared 
to  enjoy  ourselves  something  frabjous. 

Rearick  had  used  nothing  less  than  genius  in 
picking  that  team.  First  in  line  came  Blakely,  a 
mandolin  and  girl  specialist,  who  had  never  done 
anything  more  daring  than  buck  the  line  at  a  soda 
fountain.  He  had  on  football  armor  and  a  baseball 


214  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

mask.  Then  came  Andrews.  Andrews  specialized 
in  poetry  for  the  Lit  magazine  and  commonly  went 
by  the  name  of  Birdie,  because  of  an  unfortunate 
sonnet  that  he  had  once  written.  Andrews  wore 
evening  dress,  and  carried  a  football  in  a  shawl  strap. 
Then  came  McMurty  and  Boggs,  sofa-pillow  pun- 
ishers.  They  roomed  together  and  you  could  have 
tied  them  both  up  in  Ole  Skjarsen's  belt  and  had 
enough  of  it  left  for  a  handle.  James,  the  champion 
featherweight  fusser  of  the  school,  followed.  He  car 
ried  a  campchair  and  a  hot-water  bottle.  Petey 
Simmons,  five  feet  four  in  his  pajamas,  and  Jiggs 
Jarley,  champion  catch-as-catch-can-and-hold-on-tight 
waltzer  in  college,  came  next.  Then  came  Bain,  who 
weighed  two  hundred  and  seventeen  pounds,  had  been 
a  preacher,  and  was  so  mild  that  if  you  stood  on  his 
corns  he  would  only  ask  you  to  get  off  when  it  was 
time  to  go  to  class.  He  was  followed  by  Skeeter 
Wilson,  the  human  dumpling,  and  Billings,  who 
always  carried  an  umbrella  to  classes  and  who  had 
it  with  him  then.  Behind  these  came  a  great  mob 
of  camp-followers  with  chairs,  books,  rugs,  flowers, 
lunch  tables,  tea-urns  and  guitars.  It  was  the  most 
sensational  parade  ever  held  at  Siwash ;  and  how  we 
yelled  and  gibbered  with  delight  when  we  got  the 
full  aroma  of  Rearick's  plan! 

The  Kiowa  men  looked  a  little  dazed,  but  they 
did  n't  have  time  to  comment.  The  toss-up  was 
rushed  through  and  the  two  teams  lined  up,  our  team 
with  the  ball.  It  would  have  done  your  eyes  good 


Frapped  Football  215 

to  see  Rearick  adjust  it  carefully  on  a  small  doily 
in  the  exact  center  of  the  field,  mince  up  to  it  and 
kick  it  like  an  old  lady  urging  a  setting  hen  off  the 
nest.  A  Kiowa  halfback  caught  it  and  started  up 
the  field.  Right  at  him  came  Birdie  Andrews,  hat 
in  hand,  and  when  the  halfback  arrived  he  bowed  and 
asked  him  to  stop.  The  runner  declined.  McMurty 
was  right  behind  and  he  also  begged  the  runner  to 
stop.  Boggs  tried  to  buttonhole  him.  Skeeter  Wilson, 
who  was  as  fast  as  a  trolley  car,  ran  along  with  him 
for  twenty-five  yards,  pleading  with  him  to  listen  to 
reason  and  consent  to  be  downed.  It  was  no  use. 
The  halfback  went  over  the  goal  line.  The  Kiowa 
delegation  did  n't  know  whether  to  go  crazy  with  joy 
or  disgust.  Our  end  of  the  grandstand  clapped  its 
hands  pleasantly.  Down  in  the  Faculty  box  one  or 
two  of  the  professors,  who  had  n't  forgotten  every 
thing  this  side  of  the  Fall  of  Rome,  wiggled  uneasily 
and  got  a  little  bit  red  behind  the  ears. 

The  teams  changed  goals  and  Rearick  kicked  off 
again.  This  time  he  washed  the  ball  carefully  and 
changed  his  necktie,  which  had  become  slightly  soiled. 
The  other  Kiowa  half  caught  the  ball  this  time;  he 
plowed  into  our  boys  so  hard  that  McMurty  could  n't 
get  out  of  the  way  and  was  knocked  over.  Our  whole 
team  held  up  their  hands  in  horror  and  rushed  to  his 
aid.  They  picked  him  up,  washed  his  face,  re 
arranged  his  clothes  and  powdered  his  nose.  He  cried 
a  little  and  wanted  them  to  telegraph  his  mother  to 
come,  but  a  big  nurse  with  ribbons  in  her  cap  —  it 


216  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

was  Maxwell  —  came  out  and  comforted  him  and 
gave  him  a  stick  of  candy  half  as  large  as  a  barber- 
pole. 

By  this  time  you  could  tell  the  Faculty  a  mile  off. 
It  was  a  bright  red  glow.  Every  root-digger  in  the 
bunch  had  caught  on  except  Sillcocks.  He  was  in 
tensely  interested  and  extremely  grieved  because  the 
Kiowa  men  did  not  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  occa 
sion.  As  for  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  it  sounded  like 
drowning  men  gasping  for  breath.  Such  shrieks  of 
pure  unadulterated  joy  hadn't  been  heard  on  the 
campus  in  years.  When  the  teams  lined  up  again 
Kiowa  had  got  thoroughly  wise.  They  had  held  a 
five-minute  session  together,  had  taken  off  their  shin, 
nose  and  ear  guards,  had  combed  their  hair  and  had 
put  on  their  hats.  The  result  was  what  you  might 
call  picturesque.  You  could  hear  ripping  diaphragms 
all  over  the  stadium  when  they  tripped  out  on  the 
field.  The  two  teams  lined  up  and  Rearick  kicked 
off  again.  This  time  he  had  tied  a  big  loop  of  ribbon 
around  the  ball ;  when  it  landed  a  Kiowa  man  stuck 
his  forefinger  through  the  loop  and  began  to  sidle  up 
toward  our  goal,  holding  an  imaginary  skirt  Our 
team  rushed  eagerly  at  him,  Billings  and  his  umbrella 
in  the  lead.  On  every  side  the  Kiowa  players  bowed 
to  them  and  shook  hands  with  them.  The  critical 
moment  arrived.  Billings  reached  the  runner  and 
promptly  raised  his  umbrella  over  him  and  marched 
placidly  on  toward  our  goal.  Hysterics  from  the 
bleachers.  The  Kiowa  man  did  n't  propose  to  be  out- 


Trapped  FootbaU  217 

done.  He  stopped,  removed  his  derby  and  presented 
the  ball  to  Billings.  Billings  put  his  hand  on  his 
heart  and  declined.  The  Kiowa  man  bowed  still 
lower  and  insisted.  Billings  bumped  the  ground  with 
his  forehead  and  would  n't  think  of  it.  The  Kiowa 
man  offered  the  ball  a  third  time,  and  we  found  after 
ward  that  he  threatened  to  punch  Billings'  head  then 
and  there  if  he  did  n't  take  it.  Billings  gave  in  and 
took  the  ball. 

"  Siwash's  ball !  "  we  yelled  joyfully.  The  two 
teams  lined  up  for  a  scrimmage.  Right  here  a  diffi 
culty  arose  that  threatened  to  end  the  game.  The 
opposing  players  insisted  on  gossiping  with  their  arms 
around  each  other's  necks.  They  would  not  get  down 
to  business.  The  referee  raved  —  he  was  an  imported 
product,  with  no  sense  of  humor,  and  was  rapidly  get 
ting  congestion  of  the  brain.  "  Don't  hit  in  the 
clinches !  "  yelled  some  joker.  For  five  minutes  the 
teams  gossiped.  Then  our  quarter  gave  his  signal  — 
the  first  two  bars  of  "  Oh  Promise  Me  "  —  and  passed 
the  ball  to  Wilson,  who  was  fullbacking. 

It  was  twice  as  interesting  as  an  ordinary  game 
because  nobody  knew  what  Wilson  would  do;  in 
fact,  he  did  n't  seem  to  know  himself.  He  stood  a 
minute  dusting  off  the  ball  carefully  and  manicuring 
his  soiled  nails.  The  Kiowa  team  and  our  boys 
strolled  up,  arm  in  arm.  Wilson  still  hesitated.  The 
Kiowa  captain  offered  to  send  one  of  his  men  to 
carry  the  ball.  Wilson  would  n't  think  of  causing  so 
much  trouble.  Our  captain  suggested  that  the  ball 


218  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

be  taken  to  our  goal.  The  Kiowa  captain  protested 
that  it  had  been  there  twice  already.  Some  one  sug 
gested  that  they  flip  for  goals.  The  captains  did  it. 
Siwash  won.  Calling  a  messenger  boy,  our  captain 
sent  him  over  to  Kiowa's  goal  with  the  ball,  while 
the  two  teams  sat  down  in  the  middle  of  the  field 
and  the  Kiowa  captain  set  'em  up  to  gum. 

By  this  time  people  were  being  removed  from  the 
stadium  in  all  directions.  There  was  a  sort  of  purple 
aurora  over  the  Faculty  box  that  suggested  apoplexy. 
The  learned  exponents  of  revised  football  looked 
about  as  comfortable  as  a  collection  of  expiring 
beetles  mounted  on  large  steel  pins  —  that  is,  all  but 
Professor  Sillcocks.  He  was  beaming  with  pleasure. 
I  never  saw  a  man  so  entirely  wrapped  up  in  manly 
sports  as  he  was  just  then.  Evidently  the  new  foot 
ball  suited  him  right  down  to  the  ground.  He  clapped 
his  hands  at  every  new  atrocity ;  and  whenever  some 
Siwash  man  put  his  arm  around  a  Kiowan  and  helped 
him  tenderly  on  with  the  ball,  he  turned  around  to 
the  populace  behind  him  and  nodded  his  head  as  if 
to  say :  "  There,  I  told  you  so.  It  can  be  done. 
See?" 

When  the  Kiowa  center  kicked  off  for  the  next 
scrimmage  he  introduced  a  novelty.  He  produced 
a  large  beanbag,  which  I  presume  Rearick  had  slipped 
him,  kicked  it  about  four  feet  and  then  hurriedly 
picked  it  up  and  presented  it  to  one  of  our  men. 
All  of  our  boys  thanked  him  profoundly  and  then 
lined  up  for  the  scrimmage.  Immediately  the  Kiowa 


Frapp6d  FootbaU  219 

captain  put  his  right  hand  behind  him.  Our  captain 
guessed  "  thumbs  up."  He  was  right  and  we  took 
the  ball  forward  five  yards.  Deafening  applause 
from  the  stadium.  Then  our  captain  guessed  a  num 
ber  between  one  and  three.  Another  five  yards. 
Shrieks  of  joy  from  Si  wash  and  desperate  cries  of 
"  Hold  'em !  "  from  the  Kiowa  gang.  Then  the 
Kiowa  captain  demanded  that  our  captain  name  the 
English  king  who  came  after  Edward  VI.  That  was 
a  stonewall  defense,  because  Rearick  had  flunked  two 
years  running  in  English  history.  Kiowa  took  the 
ball,  but  the  umpire  butted  in.  It  was  an  offside 
play,  he  declared,  because  it  was  n't  a  king  at  all. 
It  was  a  queen  and  it  was  Siwash's  ball  and  ten 
yards.  That  made  an  awful  row.  The  Kiowa  cap 
tain  declared  that  the  whole  incident  was  "  very  re 
grettable,"  but  the  umpire  was  firm.  He  gave  us  the 
ball ;  and  on  the  very  next  down  Rearick  conjugated 
a  French  verb  perfectly  for  a  touchdown. 

All  of  this  was  duly  announced  to  the  stadium 
and  the  excitement  was  intense.  I  guess  there  were  as 
many  as  two  hundred  Chautauqua  salutes  after  that 
touchdown.  Both  teams  had  tea  together  and  our 
rooters'  chorus  sang  "  Juanita,"  while  old  Professor 
Grubb  got  up,  with  rage  printed  all  over  his  face  in 
display  type,  and  went  home.  He  never  went  near 
the  stadium  again  as  long  as  he  lived,  I  understand. 

It  was  a  most  successful  occasion  up  to  this  point, 
but  somehow  college  boys  always  overdo  a  thing.  The 
strain  was  telling  on  the  two  teams;  for,  when  you 


220  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

come  right  down  to  it,  no  Siwash  man  loves  a  Kiowa 
man  any  more  fervently  than  a  bull  pup  loves  a  cat. 
The  teams  lined  up  again  and  began  playing  "  ring- 
around-a-rosy "  to  find  who  should  make  the  next 
touchdown,  when  something  happened.  Klingel,  the 
two-hundred-and-ten-pound  Kiowan  guard,  started 
it.  He  was  just  about  as  good  a  fellow  as  a  white 
rhinoceros,  and  an  hour  of  entire  civilization  was 
about  all  he  could  possibly  stand.  He  had  the  bean- 
bag  and  he  was  tired  of  it.  Beanbags  meant  nothing 
to  him.  He  could  n't  grasp  their  solemn  beauty.  He 
offered  it  to  Petey  Simmons.  Petey  declined,  with 
profuse  thanks.  Klingel  insisted.  Petey  bowed  very 
low  and  swore  that  rather  than  make  another  touch 
down  on  Kiowa  he  would  suffer  wild  horses  to  tear 
him  into  little  bits.  Then  Klingel  began  to  get 
offside. 

"  You  hear  what  I  say,  you  little  shrimp !  "  he  said 
politely.  "  If  you  don't  take  this  thing  and  quit 
your  yawping  I  'm  going  to  make  you  do  it." 

"  Listen,  you  overfed  mountain  of  pork !  "  said 
Petey,  with  equal  cordiality.  "  If  you  don't  like  that 
beanbag  eat  it.  It  would  do  you  good.  You  don't 
know  beans  anyway." 

Then  Klingel,  without  further  argument,  hit  Petey 
in  the  eye  and  laid  him  out. 

Wow!  Talk  about  irritating  a  hornet  convention. 
Klingel  was  a  great  little  irritator.  The  whole  game 
had  been  torture  for  our  real  team,  cooped  up  among 
the  ruffles  in  the  stadium;  and  when  they  saw  little 


If  you  don't  like  that  bean  bag  eat  it " 

Page  220 


Frapped  Football  221 

Petey  go  down  they  gave  one  simultaneous  roar  and 
vaulted  over  the  railing.  It  was  a  close  race,  but 
Ole  Skjarsen  beat  Hogboom  out  by  a  foot.  He  hit 
.Klingel  first.  Hogboom  hit  him  second,  third,  fifth 
and  thirty-fourth.  Then  the  two  teams  closed  to 
gether  and  for  five  minutes  a  cyclone  of  dust,  dirt, 
sweaters,  collars,  arms,  legs,  hair  and  bright  red 
noses  swept  up  and  down  the  field.  The  grandstand 
went  crazy.  The  five  hundred  Kiowa  rooters  grabbed 
their  canes  and  started  in.  They  met  about  seven 
hundred  Siwash  patriots  and  then  the  whole  universe 
exploded. 

The  police  interfered  and  about  half  an  hour  later 
the  last  Siwash  student  was  pried  off  the  last  Kiowan. 
It  was  the  most  disgraceful  riot  in  the  history  of  the 
college.  I  don't  think  there  was  a  whole  suit  of 
clothes  on  the  field  when  it  was  over ;  and  the  Siwash 
man  who  did  n't  have  two  or  three  knobs  on  his  head 
was  n't  considered  loyal.  The  girls  all  cried.  The 
Faculty  went  home  in  cabs,  the  mayor  declared  mar 
tial  law  and  the  Kiowa  gang  walked  out  of  town  to 
the  crossing  and  took  the  train  there  to  avoid  further 
hard  feelings.  We  were  all  ashamed  of  ourselves 
and  I  think  the  two  schools  liked  each  other  a  little 
better  after  that.  Anyway,  we  regarded  the  whole 
affair  as  only  logical. 

The  Faculty  held  a  meeting  that  lasted  all  the 
next  day.  Then  it  adjourned  and  did  absolutely 
nothing  at  all  except  to  pile  upon  us  more  theses, 
themes  and  special  outrages  that  semester  than  any 


222  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

body  of  students  had  ever  been  inflicted  with  in  a 
like  period.  The  profs  would  n't  speak  to  us.  They 
regarded  us  as  beneath  notice.  But  when  the  real 
Kiowa  game  was  scheduled  by  mutual  consent,  two 
weeks  afterward,  there  was  n't  a  remark  from  head 
quarters.  We  played  Kiowa  and  spread  them  all 
over  the  map  —  and  not  a  Faculty  member  was  in 
town  that  day. 

I  understand  Professor  Sillcocks  is  not  yet  thor 
oughly  persuaded  that  his  style  of  football  was  n't  a 
success.  "  But  for  that  unfortunate  riot,  which  comes 
from  playing  with  less  cultured  colleges,"  he  remarked 
to  a  Senior  the  next  spring,  "  that  would  have  been 
the  most  successful  exhibition  of  mental  control  and 
inherent  gentility  ever  seen  at  Siwash." 

True,  very  true. 


CHAPTER  IX 

CUPID THAT  OLD  COLLEGE  CHUM 

WELL !  Well !  Well !  Here  's  another  maga 
zine  investigator  who  has  made  a  great  dis 
covery.  Listen  to  this,  Sam :  "  Co-education,  as  found 
in  American  colleges,  is  amazingly  productive  of 
romance,  and  the  great  number  of  marriages  result 
ing  between  the  men  and  women  in  co-educational 
schools  indicates  all  too  plainly  that  love-making 
occupies  an  important  part  of  the  courses  of  study." 

Those  are  his  very  words.  Is  n't  he  the  Christopher 
Columbus,  though!  Who  would  have  thought  it? 
Who  would  have  dreamt  that  there  were  any  mutual 
admiration  societies  in  co-educational  colleges  ?  I  am 
amazed.  What  won't  these  investigators  discover 
next?  Why,  one  of  them  is  just  as  likely  as  not  to 
get  wise  to  the  fact  that  there  is  a  hired-girl  problem. 
You  can't  keep  anything  away  from  these  gimlet- 
eyed  scientists. 

Oh,  sure!  I  knew  it  was  just  about  time  for 
some  kind  of  an  off-key  noise  from  you,  you  grouchy 
old  leftover.  Just  because  you  graduated  from  one 
of  those  paradises  in  pants,  where  they  import  a  car- 


224  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

load  of  girls  from  all  over  the  country  to  one  dance  a 
year  and  worry  along  the  rest  of  the  time  with  chorus 
girls  and  sweet  young  town  girls  who  began  bringing 
students  up  by  hand  about  the  time  Wm.  H.  Taft 
was  a  Freshman,  you  think  you  are  qualified  to  toss 
in  a  few  hoots  about  co-education.  Back  away,  Sam ! 
That  subject  is  loaded.  I  've  had  palpitations  on  a 
college  campus  myself;  and  I  want  to  tell  you  right 
here  that  it  beats  having  them  at  a  stage  door,  or  at 
a  summer  resort,  or  in  a  parlor  just  around  the  cor 
ner  from  nine  relatives,  or  in  one  of  those  short-story 
conservatories,  or  in  the  United  States  mails,  forty 
ways  for  Sunday ;  and,  besides,  it 's  educational.  We 
co-educationalists  get  a  four  years'  course  in  close- 
coupled  conversation  and  girl  classification  while  you 
fellows  in  the  skirtless  schools  are  getting  the  club 
habit  and  are  saving  up  for  the  privilege  of  dancing 
with  other  fellows'  fiancees  at  the  proms  once  a 
year. 

Honestly,  I  never  could  see  just  why  a  fellow  should 
wait  until  he  is  through  college  before  he  begins 
to  study  the  science  of  how  to  make  some  particular 
girl  believe  that  if  Adam  came  back  he  would  look 
at  him  and  say :  "  Gee,  it  swells  me  all  up  to  think 
that  chap  is  a  descendant  of  mine !  " 

And  I  may  be  thick  in  my  thought  dome,  but  I 
never  could  see  any  objection  to  marrying  a  classmate, 
either,  even  though  I  did  n't  do  it  myself.  I  admit 
co-educational  schools  are  strong  on  matrimony. 
Haven't  I  dug  up  for  thirty-nine  wedding  presents 


Cupid  — That  Old  College  Chum  225 

for  old  Siwash  students  already?  And  don't  I  get 
a  shiver  that  reaches  from  my  collar-button  down  to 
my  heels  every  time  I  get  one  of  those  thick,  stiff, 
double-barreled  envelopes,  with  "  Kindly  dig,"  or 
words  to  that  effect,  on  the  inside?  Usually  they 
come  in  pairs  —  the  bid  to  the  next  wedding  and  the 
bill  for  the  last  present.  Why,  out  of  sixty-five 
ninety-umpters  with  whom  I  graduated,  six  couples 
are  already  holding  class  reunions  every  evening; 
and  just  the  other  day  another  of  the  boys,  who 
thought  he  would  look  farther,  came  back  after  hav 
ing  made  a  pretty  thorough  inspection  all  over  the 
civilized  world,  and  camped  outside  of  the  home  of 
a  girl  in  our  class  until  she  admitted  that  he  looked 
better  to  her  than  any  of  the  rising  young  business 
men  who  had  bisected  her  orbit  in  the  last  ten  years. 
They  're  to  be  married  this  spring  and  I  'm  going 
back  to  the  wedding.  Incidentally  I  'm  going  to  help 
pay  for  three  more  silver  cups.  We  give  a  silver  cup 
to  each  class  baby  and  each  frat  baby,  and  I  Ve  been 
looking  around  this  past  year  for  a  place  where  we 
can  buy  them  by  the  dozen. 

Weddings !  Why,  man,  a  co-educational  college  is 
a  wedding  factory.  What  of  it?  As  far  as  I  can 
see,  Old  Siwash  produces  as  many  governors,  con 
gressmen  and  captains  of  industry  to  the  graduate 
as  any  of  the  single-track  schools.  And  I  notice  one 
thing  more.  You  don't  find  any  of  our  college  couples 
hanging  around  the  divorce  courts.  There  is  a 
peculiar  sort  of  stickiness  about  college  marriages. 


226  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

They  are  for  keeps.  When  a  Siwash  couple  does  n't 
have  anything  else  agreeable  to  talk  about  it  can 
sit  down  and  have  a  lovely  three  months'  conversation 
on  the  good  old  times.  It  takes  a  mighty  acrimonious 
quarrel  to  stand  a  college  reunion  around  a  breakfast 
table.  Take  it  from  me,  you  lonesome  old  space- 
waster,  with  nothing  but  a  hatrack  to  give  you  an 
affectionate  welcome  when  you  come  home  at  night, 
there  is  no  better  place  on  earth  to  find  good  wife 
material  than  a  college  campus.  Of  course  I  don't 
think  a  man  should  go  to  college  to  find  a  wife;  but 
if  his  foot  should  slip,  and  he  should  marry  a  girl 
whose  sofa  pillows  have  the  same  reading  matter  on 
them  as  there  is  on  his,  there  's  nothing  to  yell  for 
help  about.  Ten  to  one  he 's  drawn  a  prize.  Girls 
who  go  through  co-educational  colleges  are  extra  fine, 
hand-picked,  sun-ripened,  carefully  wrapped-up 
peaches  —  and  I  know  what  I  'm  talking  about. 

How  do  I  know  ?  Heavens,  man !  did  n't  I  go 
through  the  Siwash  peach  orchard  for  four  years? 
Don't  I  know  the  game  from  candy  to  carriages  ? 
Did  n't  I  spend  every  spring  in  a  light  pink  haze  of 
perfect  bliss  ?  And  was  n't  all  the  Latin  and  Greek 
and  trigonometry  and  athletic  junk  crowded  out  of 
my  memory  at  the  end  of  every  college  year  by  the 
face  of  the  most  utterly,  superlatively  marvelous  girl 
in  the  world  ?  And  was  n't  it  a  different  face  every 
spring?  Oh,  I  took  the  entire  course  in  girlology, 
Sam!  I  never  skipped  a  single  recitation.  I  got  a 
Summa  Cum  Laudissimus  in  strolling,  losing  frat 


Cupid  —  That  Old  CoUege  Chum     227 

pins,  talking  futures  and  acquiring  hand-made  pen 
nants.  And  the  only  bitter  thought  I  've  got  is  that 
I  can't  come  back. 

You  '11  never  realize,  my  boy,  how  old  Pa  Time 
roller-skates  by  until  you  go  back  to  a  co-ed  college 
ten  years  afterward.  Here,  in  the  busy  mart  of 
trade,  I  'm  a  promising  young  infant  who  has  got 
to  "  Yes,  sir  "  and  "  No,  sir  "  to  the  big  ones,  and 
be  good  and  get  to  work  on  time  for  thirty  years 
before  I  will  be  trusted  to  run  a  monopoly  alone  on 
a  quiet  day;  but  back  on  the  Siwash  Campus,  Sam, 
I  'm  a  patriarch.  That 's  one  reason  why  I  don't 
go  back.  I  'm  married  and  I  don't  care  to  be  madly 
sought  after,  but  also  I  don't  care  to  make  a  hit  as 
a  fine  old  antique  for  a  while  yet,  thank  you.  When 
I  am  forty,  and  have  gummed  up  my  digestion  in 
the  dollar-herding  game  until  I  wheeze  for  breath 
when  I  run  up  a  column  of  figures,  I  '11  go  back  and 
have  a  nice  comfy  time  in  the  grandpa  class.  But 
not  now.  The  only  difference  between  a  thirty-year- 
old  alumnus  and  the  mummy  of  Rameses,  to  a  college 
girl,  is  in  favor  of  the  mummy.  It  does  n't  come 
around  and  ask  for  dances. 

I  suppose,  Sam,  you  think  you  Ve  been  all  lit  up 
under  the  upper  left-hand  vest  pocket  over  one  or 
two  girls  in  your  time,  but  I  don't  believe  a  fellow 
can  fall  in  love  so  far  over  his  ears  anywhere  in  the 
world  as  he  can  in  Siwash  College.  That 's  only 
natural,  for  the  finest  girls  in  the  world  go  to  Siwash 
—  except  one  girl  who  went  to  another  school  by  acci- 


228  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

dent  and  whom  I  ran  across  about  three  years  ago 
wearing  an  Alfalfa  Delt  pin.  I  '11  take  you  up  to 
the  house  to  see  her  some  time.  She  was  too  nice  a 
girl  to  wear  an  Alfalfa  Delt  pin  and  I  just  naturally 
had  to  take  it  off  and  put  on  an  Eta  Bita  Pie  pin; 
and  somehow  in  the  proceedings  we  got  married  — 
and  all  I  have  to  say  about  it  is  three  cheers  for  the 
universe ! 

Anyway,  as  I  was  saying,  it  was  as  easy  to  fall  in 
love  at  Siwash  as  it  was  to  forget  to  go  to  chapel.  We 
got  along  all  right  in  the  fall.  We  liked  the  girls 
enormously  and  were  always  smashing  up  some  foot 
ball  team  just  to  please  them.  And,  of  course,  we 
kept  ourselves  all  stove  up  financially  during  the  win 
ter  hauling  them  to  parties  and  things  in  Jonesville's 
nine  varnished  cabs.  It  took  about  as  much  money  to 
support  those  cabs  as  it  does  to  run  a  fleet  of  battle 
ships.  But  it  was  in  the  spring  that  the  real  fireworks 
began.  Suddenly,  about  the  first  Wednesday  after 
the  third  Friday  in  April,  the  ordinary  Siwash  man 
discovers  that  some  girl  whom  he  has  known  all  year 
isn't  a  girl  at  all,  but  a  peachblow  angel  who  is 
just  stopping  on  earth  to  make  a  better  man  of  him 
and  show  him  what  a  dull,  pifflish  thing  Paradise 
would  be  without  her.  Life  becomes  a  series  of  awful 
blank  spots,  with  walks  on  the  campus  between  them. 
He  can't  get  his  calculus  because  he  is  busy  figuring 
on  a  much  more  difficult  problem;  he  is  trying  to 
figure  whether  three  dances  with  some  other  fellow 
mean  anything  more  to  Her  than  charity.  He  gets 


Cupid  —  That  Old  College  Chum    229 

cold  chills  every  time  lie  reflects  that  at  any  minute 
a  member  of  some  royal  family  may  pass  by  and 
notice  Her,  and  that  he  will  have  to  promote  inter 
national  spasms  by  hashing  him.  He  realizes  that 
he  has  misspent  his  life ;  that  football  is  a  boy  busi 
ness;  that  frats  are  foolish,  and  that  there  ought  to 
be  a  law  giving  every  college  graduate  a  job  paying 
at  least  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  on  graduation. 
He  is  nervous,  feverish,  depressed,  inspired,  anxious, 
oblivious,  glorified,  annihilated,  encouraged  and  all 
cluttered  up  with  emotion.  The  planet  was  invented 
for  the  purpose  of  letting  Her  dig  Her  number  three 
heels  into  it  on  spring  afternoons.  Sunshine  is  im 
portant  because  Her  hair  looks  better  with  the  light 
on  it.  Every  time  She  frowns  the  weather  bureau 
hangs  out  a  tornado  signal,  and  every  time  She  smiles 
somebody  puts  a  light-blue  sash  around  the  horizon 
and  a  double  row  of  million-candle-power  calcium 
lights  clear  down  the  future,  as  far  as  he  can  see. 

That 's  what  love  does  to  a  college  boy  in  spring. 
It 's  a  kind  of  rose-colored  brainstorm,  but  it  very 
seldom  has  complications.  By  the  next  fall,  the 
ozone  is  out  of  the  air;  and  after  a  couple  has  gone 
strolling  about  twice,  football  and  the  sorority  rushes 
butt  in  —  and  it 's  all  over.  Freshman  girls  are  a 
help,  too.  Beats  all  how  much  assistance  a  Freshman 
girl  can  be  in  forgetting  a  Senior  girl  who  is  n't  on 
the  premises!  Even  in  the  spring-fever  period  we 
didn't  get  engaged  to  any  extent.  The  nearest  I 
ever  came  to  it  was  to  ask  the  light  of  my  life  for 


230  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

ninety-several  if  she  would  wear  my  frat  pin  forever 
and  ever  until  next  fall.  And,  let  me  tell  you,  there 
wasn't  any  local  of  the  Bondholders'  Union  on  the 
Siwash  Campus.  That 's  another  place  where  you 
soubrette  worriers  have  us  figured  out  wrong.  Rush 
ing  a  Siwash  girl  was  about  as  distant  a  proposition 
for  us  as  trying  to  snuggle  up  to  the  planets  in  the 
telescopic  astronomy  course.  For  cool,  pleasant  and 
skillful  unapproachability,  a  co-ed  girl  breaks  all 
records.  We  just  worshiped  them  as  higher  beings, 
and  I  find  that  a  lot  of  Siwash  boys  who  have  married 
Siwash  girls  are  still  a  little  bit  dazed  about  the 
whole  affair.  They  can't  figure  how  they  ever  had 
the  nerve  to  start  real  businesslike  negotiations. 

This  very  high-class  insulation  in  our  love  affairs 
caused  us  fellows  a  lot  of  woe  once  in  a  while.  You 
never  could  tell  whether  or  not  a  girl  was  engaged 
to  some  fellow  back  home.  We  did  n't  get  imperti 
nent  enough  to  ask.  I  think  there  ought  to  be  a  law 
compelling  a  girl  who  comes  to  college  engaged  to 
some  rising  young  merchant  prince  in  the  country 
store  back  home  to  wear  an  engagement  ring  around 
her  neck,  where  it  can  be  easily  seen.  More  than 
once,  a  Siwash  man  who  had  been  conservative 
enough  to  worship  the  same  girl  right  through  his 
college  course  and  who  had  proposed  to  her  on  the 
last  night  of  school,  when  the  open  season  for  thou- 
beside-me  talk  began,  has  found  that  all  the  time 
some  chap  has  been  writing  her  a  letter  a  day  and 
that  she  has  only  regarded  the  Siwash  man  as  a 


Cupid  — That  Old  CoUege  Chum    231 

kind  friend,  and  so  on.  Never  will  I  forget  when 
Frankling  got  stung  that  way !  Of  course  we  did  n't 
generally  know  when  a  tragedy  of  this  sort  happened, 
but  in  his  case  he  brought  it  on  himself.  If  he 
had  n't  made  a  furry-eared  songbird  out  of  himself 
when  Ole  Skjarsen  drew  his  girl  at  the  Senior  class 
party  — 

You  want  to  know  about  this  girl  lottery  business, 
you  say  ?  Well,  it 's  plain  that  I  shall  have  to  begin 
right  back  at  the  beginning  of  the  Siwash  social  sys 
tem  and  educate  you  a  little  at  a  time.  Now  this 
class  party  drawing  is  an  institution  which  has  been 
handed  down  at  Siwash  ever  since  the  ancients  went 
to  school  before  the  war.  You  see,  at  Siwash,  as  at 
most  colleges,  there  is  the  fraternity  problem.  The 
frat  men  give  parties  to  the  sorority  girls  as  often  as 
the  Dean  of  Women  will  stand  for  it,  and  every  one 
gets  gorgeously  acquainted  and  extremely  sociable. 
The  non-f ratters  go  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  reception  at 
the  beginning  of  each  year  and  to  the  Commencement 
exercises,  and  that 's  about  all.  Of  course  they  pick 
up  lots  of  friends  among  the  non-sorority  girls ;  and 
I  guess  D.  Cupid  solders  up  about  as  many  jobs  among 
them  as  he  does  among  the  others.  But  there  is  n't 
much  chance  for  these  two  tribes  to  mix.  That  was 
why  the  class  lottery  was  invented.  It  has  been  a 
custom  at  Siwash,  ever  since  there  has  been  a  Siwash, 
for  each  class  to  hold  a  party  each  year.  Now  class 
parties  are  held  in  order  that  pure  and  perfect 
democracy  may  be  promoted,  and  it  is  necessary  to 


232  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

take  violent  measures  to  shuffle  up  the  people  and  get 
every  one  interested.  So  they  draw  for  partners. 
The  class  which  is  ahout  to  effervesce  socially  holds 
a  meeting.  At  this  meeting  the  names  of  all  the  men 
are  put  in  one  hat  and  the  names  of  all  the  girls  in 
another.  Then  two  judges  of  impregnable  honesty 
draw  out  a  name  from  each  hat  simultaneously  and 
read  them  to  the  class. 

When  I  was  at  Siwash  a  class  party  was  the  most 
exciting  event  in  college.  For  uncertainty  and  breath- 
grabbing  anxiety  they  made  the  football  games  seem 
as  tame  as  a  church  election.  Of  course  everybody 
can't  be  a  Venus  de  Milo  or  an  Apollo  with  a  Beveled 
Ear,  as  Petey  Simmons  used  to  call  him.  Every 
class  has  its  middle-aged  young  ladies,  who  are  at 
tending  college  to  rest  up  from  ten  or  fifteen  years  of 
school-teaching,  and  its  tall  young  agriculturalists 
with  restless  Adam's  apples,  whose  idea  of  being 
socially  interesting  is  to  sit  all  evening  in  the  same 
chair  making  a  noise  like  one  of  those  $7.78-suit 
dummies.  That 's  what  made  the  class  lotteries  so  in 
teresting.  The  plow-chasers  drew  the  prettiest  girls 
in  the  class  and  the  most  accomplished  fusser  among 
the  fellows  usually  drew  a  girl  who  would  make  the 
manager  of  a  beauty  parlor  utter  a  sad  shriek  and 
throw  up  his  job.  Of  course  every  one  was  bound  in 
honor  to  take  what  came  out  of  the  hat.  Nobody 
flinched  and  nobody  renigged,  but  there  was  a  lot  of 
suppressed  excitement  and  well-modulated  regret. 

I  have  been  reasonably  wicked  since  I  left  college. 


Cupid  — That  Old  CoUege  Chum    233 

Once  or  twice  I  have  slapped  down  a  silver  dollar 
or  thereabout  and  have  watched  the  little  ball  roll 
round  and  round  a  pocket  that  meant  a  wagon-load 
of  tainted  tin  for  me;  and  once  in  a  while  I  have 
placed  five  dollars  on  a  pony  of  uncertain  ability 
and  have  watched  him  go  from  ninth  to  second 
before  he  blew  up.  But  I  never  got  half  the  heart- 
ripping  suspense  out  of  these  pastimes  that  I  did  out 
of  a  certain  few  party  drawings,  when  I  waited  for 
my  name  to  come  out  and  wondered,  while  I  looked 
across  the  hall  at  the  girl  section,  whether  I  was 
going  to  draw  the  one  girl  in  the  world,  any  one  of 
four  or  five  mighty  interesting  runners-up,  or  the 
fat  little  girl  in  the  corner  with  ropy  hair  and  the 
general  look  of  a  person  who  had  had  a  bright  idea  a 
few  years  before  and  had  been  convalescing  from  it 
ever  since. 

Talk  about  excitement  and  consequences!  Those 
drawings  kept  us  on  the  jump  until  the  parties  were 
pulled  off.  Generally  the  proud  beauties  who  had 
been  drawn  by  the  midnight-oil  destroyers  did  not 
know  them,  and  some  one  had  to  steer  the  said  de 
stroyers  around  to  be  introduced.  What  with  drag 
ging  bashful  young  chaps  out  to  call  and  then  seeing 
that  they  did  n't  freeze  up  below  the  ankles  and  get 
sick  on  the  night  of  the  party ;  and  what  with  teach 
ing  them  the  rudiments  of  waltzing  and  giving  them 
pointers  on  lawn  ties ;  or  how  to  charter  a  good  sea 
worthy  hack  in  case  the  girl  lived  on  an  unpaved 
street;  and  bracing  up  the  fellows  who  had  drawn 


234  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

blanks,  and  going  to  call  on  the  blanks  we  had  drawn 
and  getting  gloriously  snubbed  —  give  me  a  wall 
flower  for  thorns !  —  well,  it  was  no  cinch  to  run  a 
class  party.  But  they  were  grand  affairs,  just  the 
same,  and  promoted  true  fellowship,  besides  furnish 
ing  amusement  for  the  whole  college  in  the  off  season. 
And,  besides,  I  always  remember  them  with  gratitude 
for  what  they  did  to  Frankling. 

You  know  there  are  two  kinds  of  fussers  in  college. 
There  is  the  chap  like  Petey  Simmons,  for  instance, 
whose  heart  was  a  directory  of  Siwash  girls;  and 
there  is  the  fellow  who  grabs  one  girl  and  stakes  out 
claim  boards  all  around  her  for  the  whole  four  years. 
That  was  Frankling's  style.  He  was  what  we  always 
called  a  married  man.  He  and  Pauline  Spencer  were 
the  closest  corporation  in  college.  They  entered 
school  in  the  same  class,  and  he  called  on  her  every 
Friday  night  at  Browning  Hall  and  took  her  to 
every  party  and  lecture  and  entertainment  for  the 
next  three  and  a  half  years  —  except,  of  course,  the 
class  parties.  It  was  one  of  our  chief  delights  to 
watch  Frankling  grind  his  teeth  when  some  lowbrow 
—  as  he  called  them  —  drew  her  name.  She  always 
had  rotten  luck  —  you  never  saw  such  luck!  Once 
Ettleson  drew  her.  He  was  a  tall,  silent  farmer,  who 
wore  boots  and  a  look  of  gloom ;  and  he  marched  her 
through  a  mile  of  mud  to  the  hall  without  saying  a 
word,  handed  her  to  the  reception  committee  and 
went  over  to  a  corner,  where  he  sat  all  evening.  But 
that  wasn't  so  bad  as  the  Junior  she  drew.  His 


Cupid  —  That  Old  College  Chum    235 

name  was  Slaughter.  His  father  had  a  dairy  at  the 
edge  of  Jonesville  and  Slaughter  decided  that,  as  the 
night  was  cold  and  rainy,  a  carriage  would  be  appro 
priate.  So  he  scrubbed  up  the  milk  wagon  thor 
oughly,  put  a  lot  of  nice,  clean  straw  on  the  floor, 
hung  a  lantern  from  the  top  for  heat  and  drove  her 
down  to  the  party  in  state.  She  was  game  and  did  n't 
make  a  murmur,  but  Frankling  made  a  pale-gray  ass 
of  himself.  As  I  said,  I  never  liked  Frankling.  He 
had  a  nasty,  sneering  way  of  looking  at  the  whole 
school,  except  his  own  crowd.  His  father  owned  the 
locomotive  works  and  he  always  went  to  Europe  for 
his  summers.  He  was  one  of  those  unnecessary  indi 
viduals  who  are  solemnly  convinced  that  if  you  don't 
do  things  just  as  they  do  something  is  lacking  in  your 
mind;  and,  though  he  was  perfectly  bred,  he  was 
only  about  half  as  pleasant  to  have  around  as  a  well- 
behaved  hyena. 

I  never  could  see  what  Miss  Spencer  saw  in  him, 
unless  it  was  the  locomotives.  As  far  as  we  could 
tell  —  we  never  got  much  chance  to  judge  —  she  was 
a  real  nice  girl.  She  was  a  little  haughty  and  never 
had  much  to  say,  and  always  acted  as  if  she  was 
a  princess  temporarily  off  the  job.  But  she  was  a 
good  scout,  and  proved  it  at  the  class  parties  by 
making  it  as  pleasant  as  she  could  for  the  nervous 
nobodies  who  took  her;  while  the  yellow  streak  in 
Frankling  was  so  broad  there  was  n't  enough  white 
in  him  to  look  like  a  collar.  That 's  why  the  whole 
college  went  crazy  with  delight  over  the  Ole  Skjarsen 


236  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

affair.  —  Last  station,  ladies  and  gents.  Story  be 
gins  here. 

When  we  were  Seniors  Ole  Skjarsen  was  the  chief 
embarrassment  of  the  class.  As  a  football  player  he 
was  a  wonder,  but  as  a  society  fritterling  he  was  one 
long  catastrophe.  He  just  could  n't  possibly  get  hep 
—  that  was  all.  He  was  as  companionable  and  as 
good-natured  as  a  St.  Bernard  pup  and  just  as  incon 
venient  to  have  around.  He  dressed  like  a  vaudeville 
sketch,  and  the  number  of  things  he  could  do  in  an 
hour,  which  are  not  generally  done  in  low-vest  and 
low-neck  circles,  was  appalling.  [However  we  all 
loved  Ole  because  of  his  grand  and  historic  deeds 
on  the  team,  and  we  took  him  to  our  parties  and 
never  so  much  as  fell  out  of  our  chairs  when  he  took 
off  his  coat  in  order  to  dance  with  more  comfort 
and  energy.  The  girls  were  as  loyal  as  we  were  and 
danced  with  him  as  long  as  their  feet  held  out,  and 
we  made  them  leather  hero  medals  and  really  had  a 
lot  of  fun  out  of  the  whole  business  —  all  except 
Frankling.  It  just  about  killed  him  to  ihave  to 
mingle  with  Ole  socially ;  and  when  the  time  for  the 
Senior  class  party  drew  near  he  got  so  nervous  that 
he  called  a  meeting  of  a  few  of  us  fellows  and  made 
a  big  kick. 

"  I  tell  you,  fellows,  this  has  got  to  stop !  "  he  de 
clared.  "  We  've  encouraged  this  lumber-jack  until 
he  has  gotten  too  fresh  for  any  use.  Why,  he  '11  ask 
any  girl  in  the  college  to  dance  with  him,  and  he 
goes  and  calls  on  them,  too.  Now,  it 's  up  to  us  to 


Cupid  —  That  Old  College  Chum    237 

show  him  his  place.  I  'm  dead  against  putting  his 
name  in  the  hat  for  the  party.  He  '11  be  sure  to 
draw  a  girl  who  will  be  humiliated  by  having  to  go 
with  him;  and  I  have  a  little  too  much  regard  for 
chivalry  and  courtesy  to  allow  him  to  do  it.  We  '11 
just  have  to  hint  to  him  that  he  'd  better  have  an 
other  engagement  the  night  of  the  class  party,  that 's 
all." 

Thereupon  we  all  rose  joyously  up  and  told  Frank- 
ling  to  go  jump  in  the  creek.  And  he  called  us 
muckers  and  declared  we  were  ignorant  of  the  first 
principles  of  social  ethics.  He  said  that  Skjarsen 
might  be  near  enough  our  level  to  be  inoffensive,  but 
as  for  him  he  declined  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  class  party.  Thereupon  we  gave  three  cheers, 
and  that  made  him  so  mad  that  he  left  the  meeting 
and  fell  over  three  chairs  trying  to  do  it  with  speed 
and  dignity.  Altogether  it  was  a  most  enjoyable 
occasion.  We  'd  never  gotten  quite  so  much  satis 
faction  out  of  him  before. 

The  drawing  took  place  the  next  week  and,  sure 
enough,  Frankling  declined  to  allow  his  name  to  be 
put  in  the  hat.  We  put  Ole's  name  in  and  were 
prepared  to  have  him  draw  a  Class  A  girl ;  but  what 
happened  knocked  the  props  out  from  under  us.  His 
name  came  fourth  and  he  drew  the  mortgaged  and 
unapproachable  Miss  Spencer. 

We  did  n't  know  whether  to  celebrate  or  prepare 
for  trouble.  It  seemed  reasonable  that  Miss  Spencer 
would  back  up  Frankling  and  reduce  Ole  to  an  icicle 


238  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

when  lie  asked  her  to  go  with  him.  But  the  next 
morning,  when  we  saw  Frankling,  we  were  so  happy 
that  we  forgot  to  worry.  He  was  one  large  paroxysm. 
I  never  saw  so  much  righteous  indignation  done  up 
in  one  bundle.  He  cornered  the  class  officers  and  de 
clared  in  passionate  tones  that  they  had  committed 
the  outrage  of  the  century.  They  had  insulted  one 
of  the  finest  young  women  in  the  college.  They  had 
made  it  advisable  for  all  persons  of  culture  to  remain 
away  from  Siwash.  The  disgrace  must  not  be  al 
lowed.  He  didn't  speak  as  a  friend,  but  as  a  dis 
interested  party  who  wanted  justice  done;  and  he 
proposed  to  secure  it. 

We  took  all  this  quite  humbly  and  asked  him  why 
he  didn't  see  Ole  himself  and  order  him  to  unhand 
the  lady.  From  the  way  he  turned  pale,  we  guessed 
he  had  done  that  already.  Ole  weighed  two-twenty 
in  his  summer  hair-cut  and  was  quick-tempered.  We 
then  asked  him  why  he  did  n't  buy  Ole  off.  We  also 
asked  him  why  he  did  n't  shut  down  the  college,  and 
why  he  didn't  have  Congress  pass  a  law  or  some 
thing,  and  if  his  head  had  ever  pained  him  before. 
He  was  tearing  off  his  collar  in  order  to  answer  more 
calmly  and  collectedly  when  Ole  came  into  the  room. 
Ole  had  combed  his  hair  and  shined  his  shoes,  and 
he  had  on  the  pink-and-blue  necktie  that  he  had  worn 
the  month  before  to  the  annual  promenade  with  a 
rented  dress  suit.  He  seemed  very  cheerful. 

"  Veil,  fallers,"  says  he,  "  das  leetle  Spencer  gal 
ban  all  rite.  She  say  she  go  by  me  to  das  party. 


Cupid  — That  Old  College  Chum    239 

Ve  ban  goin'  stylish  tu,  Aye  bet  yu."  Then  he  saw 
Frankling  and  went  over  to  him  with  his  hand  out. 
"  Don't  yu  care,  Master  Frankling,"  he  said,  with 
one  of  his  transcontinental  smiles.  "  Aye  tak  yust 
sum  good  care  by  her  lak  Aye  ban  her  steddy  faller." 
Phew! 

Ole  took  Miss  Spencer  to  the  party.  There  is  n't 
a  bit  of  doubt  but  that  he  took  her  in  style.  He  put 
more  care  and  exertion  into  the  job  than  any  of  the 
rest  of  us  and  he  got  more  impressive  results.  Ole 
has  his  ideas  about  dress.  Ordinarily  he  wore  one 
of  those  canned  suits  that  you  buy  in  the  coat-and- 
pants  emporiums,  giving  your  age  and  waist  measure 
in  order  to  get  a  perfect  fit.  He  wore  a  celluloid 
collar  with  it  and  a  necktie  that  must  have  been  an 
heirloom  in  the  family;  and  he  wore  a  straw  hat 
most  of  the  year.  He  wore  each  one  till  it  blew  away 
and  then  got  another.  This  rig  was  good  enough  for 
Ole  in  ordinary  little  social  affairs,  but  when  it  came 
to  dances  and  receptions  he  blossomed  out  in  evening 
clothes.  He  had  made  a  bargain  with  a  second-hand 
clothes-man  downtown  —  split  his  wood  all  winter 
for  the  use  of  a  dress  suit  that  had  lost  its  position 
in  a  prominent  family  and  was  going  downhill  fast. 
You  know  how  the  tailors  work  the  dress-suit  racket. 
They  can't  exactly  change  the  style  of  a  suit  —  it 's 
got  to  be  open-faced  and  have  tails  —  but  they  work 
in  some  little  improvement  like  a  braid  on  or  off, 
or  an  extra  buttonhole,  or  a  flare  in  the  vest  each 


240  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

year;  so  that  a  really  bang-up-to-date  chap  would 
blush  all  over  if  he  had  to  wear  a  last  year's  model. 
I  notice  the  automobile  makers  are  doing  the  same 
stunt.  They  can't  improve  their  cars  any  more,  so 
they  put  fore  doors  on  one  year,  cut  'em  in  two  the 
next  and  take  them  off  the  year  after. 

This  has  n't  anything  to  do  with  Ole  except  that 
that  dress  suit  of  his  was  behind  the  times  one  hun 
dred  and  two  counts.  It  had  been  a  fat  man's  suit 
in  the  first  place.  It  fitted  him  magnificently  at  the 
shoulders.  He  and  the  suit  began  to  leave  each  other 
from  that  point  down.  At  the  waist  it  looked  like  a 
deflated  balloon.  The  top  of  the  trousers  fitted  him 
about  as  snugly  as  a  round  manhole  in  the  street. 
The  legs  flapped  like  the  mainsail  of  a  catboat  that 's 
coming  about.  They  ended  some  time  before  his  own 
legs  did  and  there  was  quite  a  little  stretch  of  yarn 
sock  visible  before  the  big  tan  shoes  began.  Ole  had 
two  acres  of  feet  and  he  polished  his  shoes  himself, 
with  great  care.  They  were  not  so  large  as  an  ordinary 
ballroom,  but  somehow  he  used  them  so  skillfully 
that  they  gave  the  effect  of  covering  the  entire  space. 
Four  times  around  Ole's  feet  constituted  a  pretty 
fair  encore  at  our  dances ;  and  I  Ve  seen  him  pen 
up  as  many  as  three  couples  in  a  corner  with  them 
when  he  got  those  feet  tangled. 

That  was  Ole's  formal  costume.  But  he  did  n't 
regard  it  with  awe.  Any  one  could  wear  a  dress  suit. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  a  Senior  party  to  which  he 
was  to  escort  Miss  Spencer  was  too  important  to  pass 


Cupid  — That  Old  CoUege  Chum    241 

airily  off  with  the  same  old  suit.  He  had  another 
card  up  his  sleeve. 

"  Aye  ent  tal  yu,"  he  explained  when  we  asked 
him  anxiously  what  it  was  he  proposed  to  wear. 
"  Yust  vait.  Aye  ban  de  hull  show,  Aye  tank.  Yu 
fallers  yust  put  on  your  yumpin'-yack  suits.  Aye 
mak  yu  look  lak  torta  cent." 

Of  course  we  waited.  We  didn't  have  anything 
else  to  do.  We  worried  a  little,  but  we  had  gotten 
used  to  Ole,  anyway  —  and  what  was  the  difference  ? 
It  would  be  a  little  hard  on  Miss  Spencer,  but  it 
would  be  magnificently  horrible  to  Frankling,  who 
considered  that  a  collar  of  the  wrong  cut  might  en 
danger  a  man's  whole  future  career.  So  we  resigned 
ourselves  and  attended  to  our  own  troubles. 

The  night  of  the  party  was  a  cold,  clear  January 
evening.  There  was  snow  on  the  ground  and  it  was 
packed  hard  on  the  sidewalks.  This  was  nuts  for 
the  oil-burners.  They  walked  their  girls  to  the  hall. 
Four  of  the  reckless  ones  clubbed  together  and  hired 
a  big  closed  carriage  affair  from  the  livery  stable. 
It  happened  to  be  a  pallbearers'  carriage  during  tho 
daytime,  but  they  didn't  know  the  difference  and 
the  girls  did  n't  tell  them ;  and  what  you  don't  know 
will  never  cause  your  poor  old  brain  to  ache.  We 
frat  fellows  blew  our  hard-worked  allowances  for 
varnished  cabs  and  thereby  proved  ourselves  the  big 
gest  suckers  in  the  bunch.  To  this  day  I  can't  see 
why  a  girl  who  can  dance  all  night,  and  can  stroll 
all  afternoon  of  a  winter's  day,  has  to  be  hauled  three 


242  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

blocks  in  a  two-horse  rig  every  time  she  goes  to  a 
party.  The  money  we  spent  on  cabs  while  I  was  at 
Siwash  would  have  built  a  new  stadium,  painted  every 
frat  house  in  town  and  endowed  a  chair  of  United 
States  languages.  But,  there !  —  I  'm  on  my  pet 
hobby  again.  How  it  did  hurt  to  pay  for  those 
hacks! 

I  got  there  late  with  my  girl  —  she  was  a  shy  little 
conservatory  student,  who  evidently  regarded  conver 
sation  as  against  the  rules  —  and  I  found  the  usual 
complications  that  had  to  be  sorted  out  at  the  begin 
ning  of  every  class  party.  Stiffy  Short  was  sore.  He 
was  short  five  dances  for  his  girl  —  had  been  working 
on  her  program  for  a  week  —  and  he  accused  the 
fellows  of  dodging  because  she  could  n't  dance ;  and 
was  threatening  to  be  taken  sick  and  spend  the  evening 
in  the  dressing  room  smoking  cigarettes.  Miss 
Worthington,  one  of  our  Class  A  girls,  did  n't  have 
a  dance,  because  Tullings,  who  had  drawn  her,  had 
presumed  that  she  was  to  sit  and  talk  with  him  all 
evening.  Petey  Simmons  was  in  even  worse.  His 
girl  couldn't  dance,  but  insisted  on  doing  so.  She 
had  done  it  the  year  before,  too.  Petey  had  been 
training  up  for  two  weeks  by  tugging  his  dresser 
around  the  room.  Then  there  was  Glenallen.  We 
always  had  to  form  a  committee  of  national  defense 
against  Glenallen.  He  could  n't  dance,  either,  and  he 
would  insist  on  hitching  his  chair  out  towards  the 
middle  of  the  room.  I  Ve  seen  him  throw  as  many  as 
four  couples  in  a  night.  And  there  was  a  telephone  call 


Cupid  — That  Old  College  Chum    243 

from  Miss  Morse,  class  secretary  and  first-magnitude 
star.  Her  escort  had  n't  shown  up.  He  never  did 
show  up.  When  we  went  around  to  lynch  him  the 
next  day  he  explained  desperately  that  at  the  last 
minute  he  found  he  had  forgotten  to  get  a  lawn 
necktie.  You  know  how  a  little  thing  like  a  lawn 
necktie  that  ain't  can  wreck  an  evening  dress,  unless 
you  are  an  old  enough  head  to  cut  up  a  handkerchief 
and  fold  the  ends  under. 

We  had  gotten  things  pretty  well  straightened  out 
before  we  discovered  that  Ole  was  missing.  That 
would  never  do.  If  Miss  Spencer  needed  rescuing 
we  were  the  boys  to  do  it.  Three  of  us  rushed  down 
the  stairs  to  send  a  carriage  over  to  Browning  Hall, 
and  that  minute  Ole  arrived  at  the  party. 

He  had  worn  his  very  best  —  the  suit  he  was 
proudest  of  and  the  one  he  knew  could  n't  be  dupli 
cated.  It  was  his  lumber-camp  rig  —  corduroy  trou 
sers,  big  boots  and  overshoes,  red  flannel  shirt,  canvas 
pea-jacket  and  fur  cap.  He  came  marching  up  the 
walk  like  the  hero  in  a  moving-picture  show  and  we 
thought  he  was  alone  till  he  reached  the  door.  Then 
we  saw  Miss  Spencer.  She  was  seated  in  state  be 
hind  him  on  one  of  those  hand-sledges  the  farmers 
use  for  hauling  cordwood.  There  were  evergreen 
boughs  behind  her  and  all  around  her,  and  she  was 
so  wrapped  up  in  a  huge  camp  blanket  that  all  we 
could  see  of  her  was  her  eyes. 

We  gave  Ole  three  cheers  and  carried  Miss  Spencer 
upstairs  on  the  evergreen  boughs.  The  two  were 


244  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

the  hits  of  the  party.  We  never  had  a  better  one. 
The  incident  broke  more  ice  than  we  could  have 
chopped  out  in  a  month  with  all  the  dull-edged  talk 
we  had  been  handing  around.  Every  one  had  a  good 
laugh  by  way  of  a  general  introduction  and  then  we 
all  turned  in  and  made  things  hum.  The  wallflowers 
got  plucked.  Somebody  taught  the  president  of  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  how  to  waltz  and  poor  Henry  Boggs  for 
got  for  two  hours  that  he  had  hands  and  feet,  and 
that  they  were  beyond  his  control.  It  was  a  tremen 
dous  success;  we  were  so  enthusiastic  by  the  time 
things  broke  up  that  we  told  the  cabmen  to  go  hang 
and  all  walked  home  to  the  Hall,  the  men  fighting 
for  a  chance  to  pull  on  the  sledge-rope  with  Ole. 

Hold  on,  Sam.  Put  down  your  hat.  This  is  n't 
the  end,  thank  you.  It 's  just  the  prologue.  Of  course 
we  all  expected,  when  Ole  unloaded  Miss  Spencer 
at  the  Hall  and  she  bade  him  good  evening,  and 
thanked  him  for  her  delightful  time  and  so  on,  that 
the  incident  would  be  closed.  Never  dreamed  of  any 
thing  else.  Lumber- jack  suits  and  cordwood  sledges 
are  fine  for  novelties,  but  they  can't  come  back,  you 
know  —  once  is  enough.  And  that 's  why  we  fell 
dead  in  rows  when  Ole,  straw  hat  and  all,  walked 
over  to  Lab.  from  chapel  with  Miss  Spencer  the  next 
day  —  and  she  did  n't  call  for  the  police.  We 
could  n't  have  stared  any  harder  if  the  college  chapel 
had  bowed  and  walked  off  with  her.  And  we  had  n't 
Tecovered  from  the  blow  when  Friday  night  rolled 
around  and  those  of  us  who  went  to  call  at  the  Hall 


Cupid  — That  Old  CoUege  Chum    245 

found  Ole  seated  in  Frankling's  particular  corner, 
entertaining  Miss  Spencer  with  an  average  of  one 
remark  a  minute,  which,  so  far  as  we  could  hear,  con 
sisted  generally  of  "  Aye  tank  so  "  and  "  No,  ma'am." 

By  this  time  we  had  decided  that  Frankling  was 
sulking  and  that  Miss  Spencer  was  showing  him  that 
if  she  wanted  to  be  friendly  with  Ole,  or  the  town 
pump,  or  the  plaster  statue  of  Victory  in  the  college 
library,  she  had  a  perfect  right  to.  I  guess  she 
showed  him  all  right,  too,  for  after  a  couple  of  weeks 
he  surrendered  and  then  the  queerest  rivalry  Siwash 
had  ever  seen  began.  Frankling,  son  of  the  locomo 
tive  works,  authority  on  speckled  vests  and  cotillons, 
was  scrapping  with  Ole  Skjarsen,  the  cuffless  wonder 
from  the  lumber  camps,  for  the  affections  of  the 
prettiest  girl  in  college.  ~No  wonder  we  got  so  inter 
ested  that  spring  that  most  of  us  forgot  to  fall  in 
love  ourselves. 

I  don't  to  this  day  believe  that  Miss  Spencer 
meant  a  word  of  it.  I  think  that  she  was  simply 
good-natured,  in  the  first  place,  and  that,  when 
Frankling  began  to  bite  little  semicircular  pieces  out 
of  the  air,  she  began  mixing  her  drinks,  so  to  speak, 
just  for  the  excitement  of  the  thing.  Anyway, 
Frankling  walked  over  to  chapel  with  her  and  Ole 
lumbered  back.  Frankling  took  her  to  the  basket 
ball  games  and  Ole  took  her  to  the  Kiowa  debate  and 
slept  peacefully  through  most  of  it.  Frankling  bought 
a  beautiful  little  trotting  horse  and  sleigh  and  took 
Miss  Spencer  on  long  rides.  In  Siwash,  young  people 


246  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

do  not  have  chaperons,  guards,  nurses  nor  conserva 
tors.  That  was  a  knockout,  we  all  thought;  but  it 
never  feazed  Ole.  He  invited  Miss  Spencer  to  go 
street-car  riding  with  him  and  she  did  it.  Some  of 
us  found  them  bumping  over  the  line  in  one  of  the 
flat-wheeled  catastrophes  that  the  Jonesville  Company 
called  cars  —  and  Miss  Spencer  did  n't  even  blush. 
She  bowed  to  us  just  as  unconcernedly  as  if  she 
was  n't  breaking  all  long-distance  records  for  eccen 
tricity  in  Siwash  history. 

Frankling  dodged  the  whole  college  and  got  wild 
in  the  eyes.  He  looked  like  an  eminent  statesman 
who  was  being  compelled  to  act  as  barker  in  a  circus 
against  his  will.  It  must  have  churned  up  his  vitals 
to  do  his  sketch  act  with  Ole;  but  when  you  have 
had  one  of  those  four-year  cases,  and  it  has  gotten 
tangled  up  in  your  past  and  future,  you  can't  always 
dictate  just  what  you  are  going  to  do.  It  was  plain 
to  see  that  Miss  Spencer  had  Frankling  hooked,  hal 
tered,  hobbled,  staked  out,  Spanish-bitted,  wrapped  up 
and  stamped  with  her  name  and  laid  on  the  shelf  to 
be  called  for;  and  it  was  just  as  evident  that  she 
considered  he  would  be  all  the  nicer  if  she  walked 
around  on  him  for  a  while  and  massaged  his  dis 
position  a  little  with  her  little  French  heels. 

So  Frankling  continued  to  divide  time  with  Ole, 
and  all  the  fellows  whom  he  had  insulted  about  their 
neckties  and  all  the  girls  whom  he  had  forgotten  to 
dance  with  sat  around  in  perfect  content  and  watched 
the  show. 


He  invited  Miss  Spencer  to  go  street-car 
riding  with  him 

Page  246 


Cupid  —  That  Old  CoUege  Chum    247 

We  all  thought  it  would  wear  out  after  a  few 
weeks.  But  it  did  n't.  The  semester  recess  came 
and,  when  college  assembled  again,  Ole  cut  Frankling 
out  for  the  athletic  ball  as  neatly  as  if  he  had  been 
in  the  girl  game  all  his  life.  Frankling  countered 
with  the  promenade  two  weeks  later,  but  he  went  clear 
to  the  ropes  when  Miss  Spencer  came  out  one  fine 
morning  at  chapel  with  Ole's  football  charm  —  the 
one  he  had  won  the  year  the  team  had  annihilated 
two  universities  and  seven  assorted  colleges.  He  came 
back  gamely  and  decorated  her  with  fraternity  hat 
pins,  cuff  buttons,  belt  buckles  and  side  combs;  and 
on  the  strength  of  it  he  got  three  Friday  evenings  in 
a  row.  That  might  have  jarred  any  one  but  Ole. 
But  he  came  up  smiling  and  took  Miss  Spencer  to  a 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  social,  where  he  bought  her  four  dishes 
of  ice  cream  and  had  to  be  almost  violently  restrained 
from  offering  her  the  whole  freezer. 

Winter  wore  out  and  spring  came.  Frankling 
brought  the  whole  resources  of  the  locomotive  works 
into  play.  He  got  a  private  car  and  took  a  party 
off  to  the  Kiowa  baseball  game,  with  Miss  Spencer  as 
guest  of  honor.  He  bombarded  her  with  imported 
candy  and  American  beauties,  and  cluttered  up  the 
spring  with  a  series  of  whist  parties,  which  butted 
into  the  social  calendar  something  frabjous.  Ole 
plowed  right  along  with  his  own  peculiar  style  of 
argument.  He  met  the  private-car  business  with  a 
straw  ride  and  his  prize  offering  was  a  hunk  of  spruce 
gum  from  his  pine  woods,  as  big  as  your  two  fists; 


248  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

and,  so  far  as  we  could  see,  the  gum  got  exactly  the 
same  warmth  of  reception  as  the  candy  —  though  it 
did  n't  disappear  with  anywhere  near  the  rapidity. 

As  April  went  by,  we  Seniors  got  busy  with  the 
first  awful  preliminaries  of  Commencement.  It  be 
gan  to  be  considered  around  college  that  Senior  Day 
would  settle  the  affair  one  way  or  the  other.  Senior 
Day  is  the  last  event  of  Commencement  Week  at 
Siwash  and  more  engagements  have  been  announced 
formally  or  otherwise  that  day  than  at  any  other  time. 
If  a  Senior  man  and  girl,  who  had  been  making  a 
rather  close  study  of  each  other,  walked  out  on  the 
campus  together  after  the  exercises  and  took  in  the 
corporation  dinner  at  noon  side  by  side,  no  one  hesi 
tated  about  offering  congratulations.  They  might  not 
be  exactly  due,  but  it  was  a  sign  that  there  was  going 
to  be  an  awful  lot  of  nice-looking  stationery  spoiled 
by  the  two  after  the  sad  partings  were  said.  Now  we 
did  n't  have  a  doubt  that  either  Frankling  or  Ole 
would  amble  proudly  down  between  the  lilac  rows 
on  Class  Day  with  Miss  Spencer,  under  the  good  old 
pretense  of  helping  her  locate  the  dinner-tables  a 
hundred  yards  away;  and  betting  on  the  affair  got 
pretty  energetic.  Day  after  day  the  odds  varied. 
When  Frankling  broke  closing-time  rules  at  Browning 
Hall  by  a  good  thirty  minutes  some  two-to-one  money 
was  placed  on  him.  When  Ole  and  Miss  Spencer 
cut  chapel  the  next  day  the  odds  promptly  switched. 
You  could  get  takers  on  either  side  at  any  time,  but 
I  think  the  odds  favored  Ole  a  little.  You  can't  help 


Cupid  — That  Old  College  Chum    249 

boosting  your  preferences  with  your  good  money.  It 's 
like  betting  on  your  college  team. 

Commencement  Week  came  and,  although  we  were 
Seniors,  we  went  through  it  without  hardly  noticing 
the  scenery.  We  watched  Ole  and  Frankling  all 
through  Baccalaureate,  and  when  Ole  won  a  twenty- 
yard  dash  across  the  church  and  over  several  of  us, 
and  marched  down  the  street  with  Miss  Spencer,  it 
looked  as  if  all  was  over  but  the  Mendelssohn  busi 
ness.  But  Frankling  had  her  in  a  box  at  the  class 
play  the  next  night.  How  could  you  pay  any  attention 
to  the  glorious  threshold  of  life  and  the  expiring  gasps 
of  dear  college  days  with  a  race  like  that  on ! 

Commencement  was  on  Wednesday  and  Senior  Day 
was  Thursday.  Up  to  Wednesday  night  it  was  an 
even  break  —  steen  points  all.  One  of  the  two  had 
won.  We  hadn't  a  doubt  of  it.  But,  if  both  men 
had  been  born  poker  players,  drawing  to  fill,  in  a 
jack-pot  that  had  been  sweetened  nine  times,  you 
couldn't  have  told  less  to  look  at  them.  Frankling 
was  as  glum  as  ever  and  Ole  had  the  same  reenforced- 
concrete  expression  of  innocence  that  he  used  to  wear 
while  he  was  getting  off  the  ball  behind  somebody's 
goal  line,  after  having  carried  it  the  length  of  the 
field.  We  were  discussing  the  thing  that  night  on  the 
porch  of  the  Eta  Bita  Pie  house  and  were  putting 
up  a  few  final  bets  when  Ole  came  up,  carpet-bag  in 
hand  and  his  diploma  under  his  arm,  and  bade  us 
good-by.  He  was  going  out  on  the  midnight  train 
—  going  away  for  good. 


250  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

For  a  minute  you  could  have  heard  the  grass  grow 
ing.  If  Ole  was  going  away  that  night  it  meant  just 
one  thing:  the  cruel  Miss  Spencer  had  tossed  him 
over  and  he  was  bumping  the  bumps  downward  into 
a  cold  and  cheerless  future.  We  were  so  sorry  we 
could  hardly  speak  for  a  minute.  Then  Allie  Bangs 
got  up  and  put  his  arm  as  far  across  Ole's  shoulder 
as  it  would  go. 

"  By  thunder,  I  'm  sorry,  old  chap !  "  he  said 
huskily. 

For  a  man  who  had  just  had  an  air-castle  fall  on 
his  neck,  Ole  did  n't  talk  very  dejectedly.  "  Vy  yu 
ban  sorry  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  Aye  got  gude  yob  St. 
Paul  vay.  De  boss  write  me  Aye  skoll  come  Friday. 
Aye  ent  care  to  be  late  first  t'ing." 

"  But,  Ole  —  "  Bangs  began.  Then  he  stopped. 
You  can't  bawl  out  a  question  about  another  man's 
love  affairs  before  a  whole  mob. 

"  Yu  fallers  ban  fine  tu  me,"  Ole  began  again. 
"  Aye  lak  yu  bully !  Ven  yu  come  by  St.  Paul,  take 
Yim  Hill's  railroad  and  come  to  Sven  Akerson's 
camp,  femt'n  mile  above  Lars  Hjellersen's  gang.  Aye 
ban  boss  of  Sven's  camp  now.  Aye  gat  yu  gude  time 
and  plenty  flapyack." 

He  turned  to  go.  Allie  and  I  got  up  and  walked 
firmly  down  the  walk  with  him.  We  were  going  to 
be  relieved  of  our  suspense  if  we  had  to  buy  the 
information. 

"  Now,  Ole,"  said  Allie,  grabbing  his  carpet-bag, 
"  you  know  we  're  not  going  to  let  you  go  down  to  the 


Cupid  — That  Old  College  Chum    251 

train  alone.  Besides,  we  want  to  know  if  everything 
is  all  right  with  you.  You  know  we  love  you. 
We  're  for  you,  Ole.  You  —  you  and  Miss  Spencer 
parting  good  friends  ?  " 

"  Yu  bet !  "  said  Ole  enthusiastically.  "  She  ban 
fine  gur'rl,  Aye  tal  yu.  Sum  day  Aye  ban  sending 
her  deerskin  from  lumber  camp." 

Bangs  braced  up  again.  "  Er  —  you  and  Miss 
Spencer  —  er  —  not  engaged,  are  you  ?  "  he  said,  the 
way  a  fellow  goes  at  it  when  he  is  diving  into  cold 
water.  Ole  looked  around  in  perfect  good  humor. 
"  Get  married  by  each  odder  ?  "  he  said.  "  Yee  whiz ! 
no,  Master  Bangs.  She  ban  nice  gur'rl.  It  ent  any 
nicer  in  Siwash  College.  But  she  kent  cook.  She 
kent  build  fire  in  woodstove.  She  kent  wash.  She 
kent  bake  flatbrot.  She  kent  make  close.  She  yust 
ban  purty,  like  picture.  Vat  for  Aye  vant  to  marry 
picture  gallery  ?  Aye  ban  tu  poor  f aller  fur  picture 
gallery,  Aye  tank." 

"  But,  Ole,"  says  I,  jumping  in,  "  you  Ve  been 
rushing  the  girl  all  winter  as  if  your  life  depended 
on  it.  What  did  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

Ole  turned  around  patiently  and  sat  down  on  the 
steps  of  the  First  Methodist  Church,  which  happened 
to  be  passing  just  then.  "  Veil,  Aye  tal  yu,"  he  ex 
plained.  "  Miss  Spencer  she  ban  nice  tu  me.  She 
go  tu  class  party  'nd  ent  give  dam  vat  das  Frankling 
f  aller  say.  Aye  ent  forget  dat,  Aye  tal  yu;  'nd,  by 
yimmuny  Christmas!  Aye  show  her  gude  time  all 
right."  " 


252  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

We  took  Ole  to  the  station  and  sat  down  to  rest 
three  times  on  the  way  back.  So  all  that  terrific 
performance  was  a  reward  for  Miss  Spencer !  "  O 
gratitude !  "  says  the  poet,  "  how  many  crimes  are 
committed  in  thy  name !  " 

We  were  so  dazed  that  night  that  it  did  n't  occur 
to  us  to  wonder  why  Miss  Spencer  stood  for  all  the 
gratitude.  But  the  next  day,  when  the  exercises  were 
over,  that  young  lady  stepped  down  from  the  platform 
and  was  met  by  a  tall  chap  whom  she  later  introduced 
to  us  as  a  friend  of  the  family  from  her  home  town. 
You  can  always  spot  these  family  friends  by  the  way 
the  girl  blushes  when  she  introduces  them.  Miss 
Spencer  wore  a  fine  new  diamond  ring  and  we  knew 
what  it  meant.  It  was  just  another  case  where  the 
girl  came  to  school  and  the  man  stayed  at  home  and 
built  a  seven-room  house  on  a  prominent  corner  four 
blocks  from  his  hardware  store  and  waited  —  and 
tried  not  to  get  any  more  jealous  than  possible.  I 
suppose  Miss  Spencer  used  Ole  as  a  sort  of  para 
chute  to  let  Frankling  down  easily  at  the  last  Any 
way,  we  wiped  the  whole  affair  off  the  slate  after  that. 
She  was  n't  one  of  us,  anyway.  Made  us  shiver  to 
think  of  her.  What  if  one  of  us  had  sailed  in  the 
Freshman  year  and  cut  Frankling  out! 


• 


CHAPTEE   X 

VOTES    FROM    WOMEN 

DO  I  BELIEVE  in  woman's  suffrage?  Cer 
tainly,  if  you  do,  Miss  Allstairs.  As  I  sit  here, 
where  I  could  n't  help  seeing  you  frown  if  I  did  n't 
please  you,  I  favor  anything  you  favor.  If  you  want 
the  women  to  vote  just  hand  me  the  ax  and  show 
me  the  man  who  would  prevent  them.  If  you  think 
the  women  should  play  the  baseball  of  our  country 
it 's  all  right  with  me.  I  '11  help  pass  a  law  making 
it  illegal  for  Hans  Wagner  to  hang  around  a  ball  park 
except  as  water-boy.  If  you  believe  that  women  ought 
to  wear  three-story  hats  in  theaters  — 

No,  I  'm  not  making  fun  of  you.  I  hope  I  may 
never  be  allowed  to  lug  a  box  of  Frangipangi's  best 
up  your  front  steps  again  if  I  am.  If  you  want  the 
women  to  vote,  Miss  Allstairs,  just  breathe  the  word, 
and  I  '11  go  out  and  start  a  suffragette  mob  as  soon 
as  ever  I  can  find  a  brick.  And  I  would  be  a  powerful 
advocate,  too.  You  can't  tell  me  that  women  would  n't 
be  able  to  handle  the  ballot.  You  can't  tell  me  they 
would  get  their  party  issues  mixed  up  with  their 
party  gowns.  I  Ve  seen  them  vote  and  I  've  seen  them 
play  politics.  And  let  me  tell  you,  when  woman  gets 


254  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

the  vote  man  will  totter  right  back  to  the  kitchen  and 
prepare  the  asparagus  for  supper,  just  to  be  out  of 
harm's  way.  His  good  old  arguments  about  the  glory 
of  the  nation,  the  rising  price  of  wheat  and  the  grand 
record  of  those  sterling  patriots  who  have  succeeded 
in  getting  their  names  on  the  government  payroll  won't 
get  him  to  first  base  when  women  vote.  He  '11  have 
to  learn  the  game  all  over  again,  and  the  first  ninety- 
nine  years'  course  of  study  will  be  that  famous  sub 
ject,  "  Woman." 

How  do  I  know  so  much  about  it  ?  Just  as  I  told 
you.  I  've  been  through  the  mill.  I  've  seen  women 
vote.  I  've  tried  to  get  them  to  vote  my  way.  I  've 
never  herded  humming  birds  or  drilled  goldfishes  in 
close  formation,  but  I  'd  take  the  job  cheerfully.  It 
would  be  just  a  rest  cure  after  four  years'  experience 
in  persuading  a  large  voting  body  of  beautiful  and 
fascinating  young  women  to  vote  the  ticket  straight 
and  to  let  me  name  the  ticket. 

Oh,  no !  I  never  lived  in  Colorado,  and  I  never  was 
a  polygamist  in  Utah,  thank  you.  I  'm  nothing  but 
an  alumnus  of  Siwash  College,  which,  as  you  know, 
is  co-educational  to  a  heavenly  degree.  I  'm  just  a 
young  alumnus  with  about  eighty-nine  gray  hairs 
scattered  around  in  my  thatch.  Each  one  of  those 
gray  hairs  represents  a  vote  gathered  by  me  from 
some  Siwash  co-ed  in  the  cause  of  liberty  and  progress 
and  personal  friends.  Eighty-nine  was  my  total  score. 
Took  me  four  years  to  get  'em,  working  seven  days  in 
the  week  and  forty  weeks  in  the  year.  I  'm  no  brass- 


Votes  From  Women  255 

finished  and  splash-lubricated  politician,  but  I  '11  bet 
I  could  go  out  in  any  election  and  cord  up  that  many 
votes  with  whiskers  on  them  in  three  days.  "  Votes 
for  Women  "  is  a  fine  sentiment  and  very  appropriate, 
Miss  Allstairs,  but  "  Votes  from  Women  "  has  always 
been  the  motto  under  which  I  have  fought  and  been 
bled  —  I  beg  your  pardon ;  that  just  slipped  out  acci 
dentally.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  of  the  sort 
possible.  Now  there  is  n't  the  slightest  use  of  your 
getting  angry  and  making  me  feel  like  an  Arctic  ex 
plorer  in  a  linen  suit.  If  you  insist  I  '11  go  out  on 
the  front  porch  and  sit  there  a  few  weeks  until  you 
forgive  me,  but  that 's  the  very  best  I  can  do  for  you. 
I  will  positively  not  erase  myself  from  your  list  of 
acquaintances.  When  a  man  has  been  hanging  around 
the  world  in  a  bored  way  for  thirty-two  years,  just 
waiting  for  Fate  to  catch  up  with  its  assignments  and 
trundle  you  along  within  my  range  in  order  to  give 
the  sun  a  rest  — 

Oh,  well  —  if  you  forgive  me  of  course  I  '11  stop 
anything  you  say.  Though  really,  now,  that  was  n't 
joshing.  It  came  from  the  depths.  Anyway,  as  I 
was  saying,  "  Votes  from  Women  "  —  excuse  me, 
please ;  I  fell  off  there  once  and  I  'm  going  to  go 
slow  —  "  Votes  from  Women  "  was  the  burning  ques 
tion  back  at  Siwash  when  I  infested  the  campus.  The 
women  had  the  votes  already  —  no  use  agitating  that. 
The  big  question  was  getting  'em  back  when  we  needed 
them.  You  see,  the  Faculty  always  insisted  on  regu 
lating  athletics  more  or  less  and  on  organizing  things 


256  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

for  us  —  did  n't  believe  we  mere  college  youths  could 
get  an  organization  together  according  to  Hoyle,  or 
whoever  drew  up  the  rules  of  disorder  in  college 
societies,  without  the  help  of  some  skyscraper-browed 
professor.  So  they  saw  fit  to  organize  what  they 
called  a  general  athletic  association.  Every  student 
who  paid  a  dollar  was  enrolled  as  a  member,  with  a 
vote  and  the  privilege  of  blowing  a  horn  in  a  lady 
or  gentleman  like  manner  at  all  college  games.  And 
just  to  assure  a  large  membership,  the  faculty  made  a 
rule  that  the  dollar  must  be  paid  by  all  students  with 
their  tuition  at  the  beginning  of  the  year.  That,  of 
course,  enrolled  the  whole  college,  girls  and  all,  in  the 
Athletic  Association.  And  it  was  the  Athletic  Asso 
ciation  that  raised  the  money  to  pay  for  the  college 
teams  and  hired  the  coaches  and  greased  old  Si- 
wash's  way  to  glory  every  fall  during  the  football 
season. 

Now  this  did  n't  bother  any  for  a  few  years.  The 
men  went  to  the  meetings  and  voted,  and  the  girls 
stayed  at  home  and  made  banners  for  the  games. 
Everything  was  lovely  and  comfortable.  Then  one 
day,  in  my  Freshman  year  just  before  the  election, 
there  was  a  crack  in  the  slate  and  the  Shi  Belts  saw 
a  chance  to  elect  one  of  their  men  president  —  it 
was  n't  their  turn  that  year,  but  you  never  could 
trust  the  Shi  Delts  politically  any  farther  than  you 
could  kick  a  steam  roller.  They  put  up  their  man 
and  there  was  a  little  campaign  for  about  three  hours 
that  got  up  to  eleven  hundred  revolutions  a  minute. 


Votes  From  Women  257 

We  clawed  and  scratched  and  dug  for  votes  and  were 
still  short  when  Reilly  got  an  idea  and  rushed  over  to 
Browning  Hall.  Five  minutes  before  the  polls  closed 
he  appeared,  leading  twenty-seven  Siwash  girls,  and 
the  trouble  was  over.  They  voted  for  our  man  and 
he  was  elected  by  four  votes.  But,  incidentally,  we 
tipped  over  a  can  of  —  no,  wait  a  minute.  I  've  sim 
ply  got  to  be  more  classical.  What 's  the  use  of  a 
college  diploma  if  you  have  to  tell  all  you  know  in 
baseball  language  ?  Let 's  see  —  you  remember  that 
beautiful  Greek  lady  who  opened  a  box  under  the 
impression  that  there  was  a  pound  of  assorted  choco 
late  creams  in  it  and  let  loose  a  whole  international 
museum  of  trouble?  Dora  Somebody  —  eh?  Oh, 
yes,  Pandora.  I  always  did  fall  down  on  that  name. 
Anyway,  the  box  we  opened  in  that  election  would 
have  made  Pandora's  little  grief  repository  look  like 
a  box  of  pink  powder.  The  kind  you  girls  —  oh,  very 
well.  I  take  it  back.  Honestly,  Miss  Allstairs,  you  '11 
get  me  so  afraid  of  the  cars  in  a  minute  that  I  '11 
have  to  ditch  this  train  of  thought  and  talk  about 
art.  Ever  hear  me  talk  about  art?  Well,  it  would 
serve  you  right  if  you  did.  I  talked  about  art  with 
a  kalsominer  once,  and  he  wanted  to  fight  me  for  the 
honor  of  his  profession. 

However,  as  I  was  saying,  the  women  voted  at 
Siwash  that  fall  and  I  guess  they  must  have  liked  the 
taste,  for  the  first  thing  we  knew  we  had  the  woman 
vote  to  take  care  of  all  the  time.  The  next  fall  pretty 
nearly  every  girl  in  the  college  turned  out  to  class 


258  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

meetings,  and  the  way  they  voted  pretty  nearly  drove 
us  mad.  They  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a  game.  They 
fussed  about  whether  to  vote  on  pink  paper  or  blue 
paper;  voted  for  members  of  the  Faculty  for  class 
president ;  one  of  them  voted  for  the  President  of  the 
United  States  for  president  of  the  Sophomore  class; 
wanted  to  vote  twice;  came  up  to  the  ballot  box  and 
demanded  their  votes  back  because  they  had  changed 
their  minds;  went  away  before  election  and  left 
word  with  a  friend  to  vote  for  them.  Took  us  an  hour, 
right  in  football  practice  time,  to  get  the  ticket 
through  in  our  class;  and  what  with  lending  pen 
cils  and  chasing  girls  who  carried  their  ballots  away 
with  them,  and  getting  called  down  for  trying  to 
see  that  everything  went  along  proper  and  shipshape 
and  according  to  program,  we  boys  were  half  crazy 
when  it  was  all  over. 

But  the  girls  liked  it  enormously.  It  was  a  nov 
elty  for  them,  and  we  saw  right  there  that  it  was  a 
case  of  organize  the  female  vote  or  have  things 
hopelessly  muddled  up  before  the  end  of  the  year. 
In  the  interests  of  harmony  things  had  to  be  done  in 
a  businesslike  manner.  Certain  candidates  had  to 
be  put  through  and  certain  factions  had  to  be  gently 
but  firmly  stepped  on.  Harmony,  you  know,  Miss 
Allstairs,  is  a  most  important  thing  in  politics. 
Without  harmony  you  can't  do  a  thing.  Harmony 
in  politics  consists  of  giving  the  insurgents  not  what 
they  ask  for,  but  something  that  you  don't  want.  I 
was  a  grand  little  harmonizer  in  my  day  too.  I  ran 


Votes  From  Women  259 

the  oratorical  league  the  year  before  it  went  broke 
and  then  traded  the  presidency  to  the  Chi  Yi-Delta 
Whoop  crowd  for  the  editorship  of  the  Student 
Weekly.  That 's  harmony.  They  were  happy  and 
so  was  I.  When  I  saw  how  hard  they  had  to  hustle 
to  pay  the  association  debts  the  next  fall  I  was  so 
happy  I  could  hardly  stand  it. 

No,  Miss  Allstairs,  that  was  not  meanness  on  my 
part.  It  was  politics.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
difference  between  meanness  and  politics.  One 
is  low-down  and  contemptible  and  nasty,  and  the 
other  is  expedient.  See?  Why,  some  of  the  most 
generous  men  in  the  world  are  politicians.  Time 
and  again  I  've  seen  Andy  Hoople,  the  big  politician 
of  our  town,  pay  a  man's  fare  to  Chicago  so  that 
he  could  go  up  there  and  rest  during  the  last  week 
of  a  political  campaign  and  not  bother  himself  and 
get  all  worried  over  the  way  things  were  going  — 
and  the  man  would  be  on  the  other  side  too. 

Anyway,  to  —  wait  a  minute ;  I  'm  going  to  hook 
over  some  French  now.  Look  out,  low  bridge  —  to 
rendezvous  to  our  muttons  —  how  's  that  ?  In  a  good 
many  ways  there  are  worse  jobs  than  that  of  persuad 
ing  a  pretty  girl  to  vote  the  right  way.  Sometimes  I 
liked  the  job  so  well  that  I  was  sorry  when  election 
came.  But,  on  the  whole,  it  was  hard,  hard  work. 
We  tried  arguments  and  exhortation  and  politics, 
and  you  might  as  well  have  shot  cheese  balls  at 
the  moon.  Never  touched  'em.  I  talked  straight 
logic  to  a  girl  for  an  hour  once,  showing  her  con- 


260  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

clusively  that  it  was  her  duty  as  a  patriotic  Siwash 
student  to  vote  for  a  man  who  could  give  a  strong 
mind  and  a  lot  of  money  to  the  debating  cause ;  and 
then  she  remarked  quite  placidly  that  she  would  al 
ways  vote  for  the  other  man  for  whatever  office  he 
wanted,  because  he  wore  his  dress  suit  with  such 
an  air.  I  had  to  take  her  clear  downtown  and  buy 
her  ice  cream  and  things  before  she  could  under 
stand  the  gravity  of  the  case  at  all  — 

No,  indeed,  Miss  Allstairs,  I  did  n't  bribe  her. 
You  must  be  very  careful  about  charging  people 
with  bribery.  Bribery  is  a  very  serious  offense.  It 's 
so  serious  that  nowadays  it 's  a  very  grave  thing 
to  charge  a  politician  with  it.  I  think  it  will  be 
made  a  crime  soon.  I  bought  ice  cream  for  this 
girl  because  she  could  understand  things  better 
while  she  was  eating  ice  cream.  It  made  her  think 
better.  Of  course,  you  can't  do  that  with  a  man 
in  real  politics.  You  have  to  give  him  an  office 
or  a  contract  or  something  in  order  to  get  his  mind 
into  a  cheerful  condition.  You  can  argue  so  much 
better  with  a  man  when  he  is  cheerful.  No,  indeed. 
I  would  n't  bribe  a  fly.  Nobody  would.  There 
isn't  any  bribing  any  more  anyway.  Illinois  has 
taught  the  world  that. 

But  that  was  the  least  of  our  troubles.  After  you 
had  persuaded  a  girl  to  vote  right  you  had  to  keep 
her  persuaded.  Now  most  any  man  might  be  able 
to  keep  one  vote  in  line,  but  that  was  n't  enough.  Some 
of  us  had  to  keep  four  or  five  votes  all  ready  for  use, 


Votes  From  Women  261 

for  competition  was  pretty  swift  and  there  were  a 
tremendous  number  of  co-eds  in  school.  You 
never  saw  such  a  job  as  it  was.  No  sooner  would 
I  have  Miss  A.  entirely  friendly  to  my  candidate 
for  the  editorship  of  the  Weekly  than  Miss  B.  would 
flop  over  and  show  marked  signs  of  frost  —  and  then 
I  would  have  to  drop  everything  and  walk  over  from 
chapel  with  her  three  mornings  hand-running,  and 
take  her  to  a  play,  and  make  a  wild  pass  about  not 
knowing  whether  any  one  would  go  to  the  prom  with 
me  or  not  And  then  just  as  she  would  begin  to 
smile  when  she  saw  me  Miss  A.  would  pass  me  on 
the  street  and  look  at  me  as  if  I  had  robbed  a  hen 
roost.  And  just  as  I  was  entirely  friendly  with 
both  of  them  it  would  occur  to  me  that  I  had  n't 
called  on  Miss  C.  for  three  weeks  and  that  Bannister, 
of  the  Alfalfa  Delts,  was  waiting  for  Miss  D.  after 
chapel  every  morning  and  would  doubtless  make  a 
low-down,  underhanded  attempt  to  talk  politics  to 
her  in  the  spring.  For  a  month  before  each  election 
I  felt  like  a  giddy  young  squirrel  running  races 
with  myself  around  a  wheel.  Some  college  boys 
can  keep  on  terms  of  desperate  and  exclusive  friend 
liness  with  a  dozen  girls  at  a  time  —  Petey  Sim 
mons  got  up  to  eighteen  one  spring  when  we  won  the 
big  athletic  election  —  but  four  or  five  were  as  many 
as  I  could  manage  by  any  means,  and  it  kept  me 
busted,  conditioned  and  all  out  of  training  to  accom 
plish  this.  And  when  election-time  approached  and 
it  came  to  talking  real  politics,  and  the  girl  you  had 


262  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

counted  on  all  winter  to  swing  her  wing  of  the  third 
floor  in  Browning  Hall  for  your  candidate  would 
suddenly  remember  in  the  midst  of  a  businesslike 
talk  on  candidates  and  things  that  you  had  cut  two 
dances  with  her  at  the  prom,  and  you  could  n't  ex 
plain  that  you  simply  had  to  do  it  because  you  had 
to  keep  your  stand-in  with  a  girl  on  the  first  floor 
who  had  the  music-club  vote  in  her  pocket-book  — 
well,  I  may  get  out  over  Niagara  Falls  some  day 
on  a  rotten  old  tight-rope,  with  a  sprained  ankle 
and  a  fellow  on  my  shoulders  who  is  drunk  and 
wants  to  make  a  speech  standing  up  —  but  if  I  do 
I  won't  feel  any  more  wobbly  and  uncertain  about 
the  future  than  I  used  to  feel  on  those  occasions. 

Of  course  it  was  entirely  impossible  for  the  few 
dozen  college  politicians  to  make  personal  friends 
and  supporters  of  all  the  girls  in  Siwash.  We  did  n't 
want  to.  There  are  girls  and  girls  at  Siwash,  just 
as  there  are  everywhere  else.  Maybe  a  third  of  the 
Siwash  girls  were  pretty  and  fascinating  and  wise  and 
loyal,  and  nine  or  ten  other  exceedingly  pleasant 
adjectives.  And  perhaps  another  third  were  — 
well,  nice  enough  to  dance  with  at  a  class  party  and 
not  remember  it  with  terror.  And  then  there  was 
another  third  which  —  oh,  well,  you  know  how  it 
goes  everywhere.  They  were  grand  young  women, 
and  they  were  there  for  educational  purposes. 
They  took  prizes  and  learned  a  lot,  and  this  was 
partly  because  there  were  no  swarms  of  bumptious 
young  collegians  hanging  around  them  and  wasting 


Votes  From  Women  263 

their  time.  Far  be  it  from  me,  Miss  Allstairs,  to 
speak  disparagingly  of  a  single  member  of  your  sex 
—  you  are  all  too  good  for  us  —  but,  if  you  will 
force  me  to  admit  it,  there  were  girls  at  Siwash  — 
ex-girls  —  who  would  have  made  a  true  and  loyal 
student  of  art  and  beauty  climb  a  high  board  —  cer 
tainly,  I  said  I  was  n't  going  to  say  anything  against 
them,  and  I  'm  not.  Anyway,  it 's  no  great  com 
pliment  to  be  admired  for  your  youth  and  beauty 
alone.  Age  has  its  claims  to  respect  too  —  oh,  very 
well ;  I  '11  change  the  subject. 

As  I  was  saying,  we  couldn't  influence  all  the 
co-ed  vote  personally,  but  we  handled  it  very  syste 
matically.  Every  popular  girl  in  the  school  had  her 
following,  of  course,  at  Browning  Hall.  So  we 
just  fought  it  out  among  the  popular  girls.  Before 
elections  they  'd  line  up  on  their  respective  sides, 
and  then  they  'd  line  up  the  rest  of  the  co-ed  vote. 
On  a  close  election  we  'd  get  out  every  vote,  and  we  'd 
have  it  accounted  for,  too,  beforehand.  The  real 
precinct  leaders  had  nothing  on  us.  It  took  a  lot  of 
time  and  worry;  but  it  was  all  very  pleasant  at  the 
end.  The  popular  girls  would  each  lead  over  her 
collection  of  slaves  of  Horace  and  Trig,  and  Counter 
point  and  Rhetoric,  and  we  'd  cheer  politely  while 
they  voted  'em.  Then  we  'd  take  off  our  hats  and 
bow  low  to  said  slaves,  and  they  would  go  back  to 
their  galleys  after  having  done  their  duty  as  free- 
born  college  girls,  and  that  would  be  over  for  an 
other  year.  Everything  would  have  continued  lovely 


264  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

and  comfortable  and  darned  expensive  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  Mary  Jane  Hicks,  of  Carruthers'  Corners, 
Missouri. 

No,  I  Ve  never  told  you  of  Mary  Jane  Hicks. 
Why?  The  real  reason  is  because  when  we  fellows 
of  that  period  mention  her  name  we  usually  cuss  a 
little  in  a  hopeless  and  irritable  sort  of  way  It  'a 
painful  to  think  of  her.  It 's  humiliating  to  think  that 
twenty-five  of  the  case-hardened  and  time-seasoned 
politicians  of  Siwash  should  have  been  double-crossed, 
checkmated,  outwitted,  out-generaled,  sewed  up  into 
sacks  and  dumped  into  Salt  Creek  by  a  red-headed, 
freckled-nosed  exile  from  a  Missouri  clay  farm;  and 
a  Sophomore  at  that  —  say,  what  am  I  telling  you 
this  for,  Miss  Allstairs  ?  Honestly,  it  hurts.  It 's 
nice  for  a  woman  to  hear,  I  know,  but  I  may  have 
to  take  gas  to  get  through  this  story. 

This  Mary  Jane  Hicks  came  to  Siwash  the  year 
before  it  all  happened  and  was  elected  to  the  un- 
noticeables  on  the  spot.  She  was  a  dumpy  little 
girl,  with  about  as  much  style  as  a  cornplanter ;  and 
I  suspect  that  she  bade  her  pet  calf  a  fond  good-by 
when  she  left  the  dear  old  farm  to  come  and  play  tag 
with  knowledge  on  the  Siwash  campus.  Nobody 
saw  her  in  particular  the  first  year,  except  that  you 
could  n't  help  noticing  her  hair  any  more  than  you 
can  help  noticing  a  barn  that 's  burning  on  a  damp, 
dark  night.  It  was  explosively  red  and  she  did  n't 
seem  to  care.  She  always  had  her  nose  turned  up 
a  little  —  just  on  principle,  I  guess,  And  when 


It  was  a  blow  between  the  eyes 

See  page  268 


Votes  From  Women  265 

you  see  a  red-headed  girl  with  a  freckled  nose  that 
turns  up  just  locate  the  cyclone  cellars  in  your  im 
mediate  vicinity,  say  I. 

Well,  Mary  Jane  Hicks  went  through  her  Fresh 
man  year  without  causing  any  more  excitement  than 
you  could  make  by  throwing  a  clamshell  into  the 
Atlantic  Ocean.  She  drew  a  couple  of  classy  men 
for  the  class  parties  and  they  reported  that  she 
towed  unusually  hard  when  dancing.  She  voted  in 
the  various  elections  under  the  protecting  care  of 
Miss  Willoughby,  who  was  a  particular  friend  of 
mine  just  before  the  Athletic  election,  and  that 's 
how  I  happened  to  meet  her.  I  was  considerably 
grand  at  that  time  —  being  a  Junior  who  had  had 
a  rib  smashed  playing  football  and  was  going  to 
edit  the  college  paper  the  next  year  —  but  the  way 
she  looked  at  me  you  would  have  thought  that  I  was 
the  fractional  part  of  a  peeled  cipher.  She  just 
nodded  at  me  and  said  "  Howdedo,"  and  then  asked 
if  the  vest-pocket  vote  was  being  successfully  ex 
tracted  that  day.  That  was  nervy  of  her  and  I 
frowned ;  after  which  she  remarked  that  she  objected 
to  voting  without  being  told  in  advance  that  the 
cause  of  liberty  was  trembling  in  the  voter's  palm. 
I  remember  wondering  at  the  time  where  she  had 
dug  up  all  that  rot. 

Miss  Hicks  voted  at  all  the  elections  along  with 
the  rest  of  the  herd,  and  as  far  as  I  know  no  rude 
collegian  came  around  and  broke  into  her  studies 
by  taking  her  anywhere.  Commencement  came  and 


266  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

we  all  went  home,  and  I  forgot  all  about  her.  The 
next  fall  was  a  critical  time  with  the  Eta  Bita  Pie- 
Fly  Gam-Sigh  Whoopsilon  combination,  because  we 
had  graduated  a  large  number  of  men  and  we  had  to 
pull  down  the  fall  elections  with  a  small  voting 
strength.  So  I  went  down  to  college  a  day  early  to 
confer  with  some  of  the  other  patriotic  leaders  re 
garding  slates  and  other  matters  concerning  the  good 
of  the  college. 

I  had  n't  more  than  stepped  off  the  train  until  I 
met  Frankling,  the  president  of  the  Alfalfa  Delts, 
and  Randolph,  of  the  Delta  Kappa  Sonofaguns,  and 
Chickering,  of  the  Mu  Kow  Moos,  in  close  consul 
tation.  It  was  very  evident  that  they  were  going  to 
do  a  little  high-class  voting  too.  And  before  night  I 
discovered  that  the  Shi  Delts  and  the  Delta  Flushes 
and  the  Omega  Salves  had  formed  a  coalition  with 
the  independents,  and  that  there  was  going  to  be 
more  politics  to  the  square  inch  in  old  Siwash  that 
year  than  there  had  been  since  the  year  of  the  big 
wind  —  that 's  what  we  called  the  year  when  Max 
well  was  boss  of  the  college  and  swept  every  election 
with  his  eloquence. 

There  were  any  number  of  important  elections 
coming  off  that  fall.  There  were  all  the  class  elec 
tions,  of  course,  and  the  Oratorical  election,  and  a 
couple  of  vacancies  to  fill  in  the  Athletic  Association, 
and  a  college  marshal  to  elect,  and  goodness  knows 
what  all  else  to  nail  down  and  tuck  away  before  we 
could  get  down  to  the  serious  job  of  fighting  con- 


Votes  From  Women  267 

ditions  that  fall.  I  was  so  busy  for  the  first  three 
days,  wiring  up  the  new  students  and  putting 
through  a  trade  on  the  Athletic  secretaryship  with 
the  Delta  Kap  gang,  that  I  couldn't  pay  any  atten 
tion  to  the  class  elections.  But  they  were  pretty 
safe  anyway.  It  was  only  about  a  day's  job  to  put 
through  a  class  slate.  The  Junior  election  came 
first,  and  we  had  arranged  to  give  it  to  Miss  Wil- 
loughby.  We  always  elected  women  presidents  of 
the  Junior  class  at  Siwash.  Little  Willoughby  had 
a  cinch  because,  of  course,  our  crowd  backed  her 
hard  —  and  we  were  strong  in  Juniors  —  and,  be 
sides  she  had  a  good  following  among  the  girls.  So 
we  just  turned  the  whole  thing  over  to  the  girls  to 
manage  and  thought  no  more  about  it,  being  mighty 
hard  pressed  by  the  miserable  and  un-American  bi 
partisan  combination  on  the  Athletic  offices. 

School  opened  on  Tuesday.  The  Junior  class 
election  came  off  on  Thursday  afternoon  and  a  Miss 
Hamthrick  was  elected  president.  I  would  have  bet 
on  the  college  bell  against  her.  It  was  the  shock- 
ingest  thing  that  had  happened  in  politics  for  five 
years.  Miss  Hamthrick  was  a  conservatory  student. 
Even  when  you  shut  your  eyes  and  listened  to  her 
singing  she  did  n't  sound  good-looking.  Davis  drew 
her  for  the  Sophomore  class  party  the  year  before 
and  exposed  himself  to  the  mumps  to  get  out  of 
going.  Not  only  was  she  elected  president,  but  the 
rest  of  the  offices  went  to  —  no,  I  '11  not  describe 
them.  I  'm  sort  of  prejudiced  anyway.  They  made 


268  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

Miss  Hamthrick  seem  beautiful  and  clever  by 
comparison. 

It  was  a  blow  between  the  eyes.  The  worst  of  it 
was  we  couldn't  understand  it.  I  went  over  to  see 
Miss  Willoughby  about  it,  and  she  came  down  all 
powdery  and  beautiful  about  the  eyes  and  nose  and 
talked  to  me  as  haughtily  as  if  I  had  done  it  myself. 
She  said  she  had  trusted  us,  but  it  was  evident  that 
all  a  woman  could  hope  for  in  politics  was  the  priv 
ilege  of  being  fooled  by  a  man.  She  even  accused 
me  of  helping  elect  the  Hamthrick  lady,  said  she 
wished  me  joy,  and  asked  if  it  had  been  a  pretty  ro 
mance.  That  made  me  tired,  and  I  said  —  oh,  well, 
no  use  remembering  what  I  said.  It  was  the  last 
thing  I  ever  had  a  chance  to  say  to  Miss  Willoughby 
anyway.  I  was  pretty  miserable  over  it  —  polit 
ically,  of  course,  I  mean,  Miss  Allstairs.  You 
understand.  Now  there  's  no  use  saying  that.  It 
was  n't  so.  College  girls  are  all  very  well,  and  one 
must  be  entertained  while  getting  gorged  with 
knowledge ;  but  really,  when  it  comes  to  more  serious 
things,  I  never  — 

All  right,  I  '11  go  on  with  my  story.  The  next 
day  we  got  a  harder  blow  than  ever.  The  Fresh 
man  class  election  came  off  on  a  snap  call,  and  about 
half  the  class,  mostly  girls,  elected  a  lean  young 
lady  with  spectacles  and  a  wasp-like  conversation 
to  the  presidency.  We  raised  a  storm  of  indig 
nation,  but  they  blandly  told  us  to  go  hence.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States 


Votes  From  Women  269 

to  prevent  a  woman  from  being  president  of  the 
Freshman  class,  and  there  did  n't  seem  to  be  any 
other  laws  on  the  subject  Besides,  the  Freshman 
class  was  a  brand-new  republic  and  didn't  need  the 
advice  of  such  an  effete  monarchy  as  the  Senior 
class.  While  we  were  talking  it  all  over  the  next 
day  the  Sophomores  met,  and  after  a  terrific  struggle 
between  the  Eta  Bita  Pies,  the  Alfalfa  Delts  and 
the  Shi  Delts,  Miss  Hicks  was  elected  president  by 
what  Shorty  Gamble  was  pleased  to  term  "  the  gar 
goyle  vote."  I  wouldn't  say  that  myself  of  any 
girl,  but  Shorty  had  been  working  for  the  place  for 
a  year,  and  when  the  twenty  girls  who  had  never 
known  what  it  was  to  have  a  sassy  cab  rumble  up 
to  Browning  Hall  and  wait  for  them  cast  their  votes 
solidly  and  elected  the  Missouri  Prairie  Fire  he  felt 
justified  in  making  comments. 

By  this  time  it  was  a  case  of  save  the  pieces. 
The  whole  thing  had  been  as  mysterious  as  the 
plague.  We  were  getting  mortal  blows,  we  could  n't 
tell  from  whom.  All  political  signs  were  failing. 
The  game  was  going  backward.  A  lot  of  the  lead 
ers  got  together  and  held  a  meeting,  and  some  of 
them  were  for  declaring  a  constitutional  monarchy 
and  then  losing  the  constitution.  My!  But  they 
were  bitter.  Everybody  accused  everybody  else  of 
double-crossing,  underhandedness,  gum-shoeing,  back 
biting,  trading,  pilfering  and  horse-stealing.  I  think 
there  was  a  window  or  two  broken  during  the 
discussion.  But  we  didn't  get  anywhere.  The 


270  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

next  day  the  Senior  class  elected  officers,  and  every 
frat  went  out  with  a  knife  for  its  neighbor.  A 
quiet  lady  by  the  name  of  Simpkins,  who  was  one 
of  the  finest  old  wartime  relics  in  school,  was  elected 
president. 

That  night  I  began  putting  two  and  two  and  frac 
tional  numbers  together  and  called  in  calculus  and 
second  sight  on  the  problem.  I  remembered  what 
the  Hicks  girl  had  said  to  me  the  year  before.  That 
was  more  than  the  ordinary  girl  ought  to  know  about 
politics.  I  remembered  seeing  her  doing  more  or 
less  close-harmony  work  with  the  other  midnight-oil 
consumers  —  and  the  upshot  was  I  went  over  to 
Browning  Hall  that  night  and  called  on  her. 

She  came  down  in  due  time  —  kept  me  waiting 
as  long  as  if  she  had  been  the  belle  of  the  prom  — 
and  she  shook  hands  all  over  me. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  sitting  down  on  the 
sofa  with  me,  "  I  'm  so  delighted  to  renew  our  old 
friendship." 

Now,  I  don't  like  to  be  "  my  dear  boyeoL,"  by  a 
Sophomore,  and  there  never  had  been  any  old  friend 
ship.  I  started  to  stiffen  up  —  and  then  did  n't. 
I  didn't  because  I  didn't  know  what  she  would  do 
if  I  did. 

"  How  are  all  the  other  good  old  chaps  ?  "  she  said 
as  cordially  as  could  be.  "  My,  but  those  were  grand 
days." 

I  did  n't  see  any  terminus  in  that  conversation. 
Besides,  she  looked  like  one  of  those  most  uncom- 


"  How  are  all  the  other  good  old  chaps?"  she  said 

Paye  270 


Votes  From  Women  271 

fortable  girls  who  can  guy  you  in  such,  an  innocent 
and  friendly  manner  that  you  don't  know  what  to 
say  back.  So  I  brushed  the  preliminaries  aside  and 
jumped  right  into  the  middle  of  things.  "  Miss 
Hicks,"  says  I,  "  why  are  you  doing  all  this  ? " 

"  Singular  or  plural  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  And 
why  am  I  or  are  we  doing  what,  and  why  should  n't 
we?" 

"  Help,"  said  I,  feeling  that  way.  "  Do  you  deny 
that  you  have  n't  been  instrumental  in  upsetting  the 
whole  college  with  those  fool  elections  ? " 

"  I  am  a  modest  young  lady,"  said  she,  "  so,  of 
course,  I  deny  it.  Besides,  this  college  is  n't  upset  at 
all.  I  went  over  this  morning  and  every  professor 
was  right  side  up  with  care  where  he  belonged. 
And,  moreover,  you  must  not  call  an  election  a  fool 
because  it  does  n't  do  what  you  want  it  to.  It  can't 
help  itself." 

"  Miss  Hicks,"  says  I,  feeling  like  a  fly  in  an  acre 
of  web,  "  I  am  a  plain  and  simple  man  and  not 
handy  with  my  tongue.  What  I  mean  is  this,  and  I 
hope  you  '11  excuse  me  for  living  —  do  you  admit 
that  you  had  a  hand  in  those  class  elections  ? " 

Miss  Hicks  looked  at  me  in  the  friendliest  way 
possible.  "It  is  more  modest  to  admit  it  than  to 
declare  it,  is  n't  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  says  I ;  "  and  this  leads  right  back 
to  question  Number  One  —  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  And  this  leads  back  to  answer  Number  One  — 
Why  should  n't  I  ?  "  she  asked  again. 


272  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,  Miss  Hicks,"  says  I,  "  that 
you  've  elected  a  lot  of  girls  that  never  have  been 
active  in  college  work,  and  that  don't  represent  the 
student  body,  and  —  " 

"  Don't  go  to  the  proms  ?  "  she  suggested. 

"  I  did  n't  say  it  and  I  'd  die  before  I  did,"  said 
I  virtuously.  "  But  what 's  your  object  ?  " 

"  Education,"  said  Miss  Hicks  mildly.  "  I  'm 
paying  full  tuition  and  I  want  to  get  all  there  is  out 
of  college.  I  think  politics  is  a  fascinating  study. 
I  did  n't  get  a  chance  to  do  much  at  it  last  year,  but 
I  'm  learning  something  about  it  every  day  now." 

"But  what's  the  good  of  it  all?"  I  protested. 
"  You  '11  just  get  the  college  affairs  hopelessly  mixed 
up  —  " 

"  Like  the  Oratorical  Association  was  last  year  ?  " 
she  inquired  gently. 

"  Oh,  pshaw !  "  said  I,  getting  entirely  red.  "  Let 's 
not  get  personal.  What  can  we  do  to  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  You  've  been  satisfying  us  beautifully  so  far," 
said  Miss  Hicks. 

"  Who 's  us  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  telling  you,"  said  Miss 
Hicks.  "  It 's  the  Blanks." 

"The  Blanks!"  I  repeated  fretfully.  "Never 
heard  of  'em." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Miss  Hicks,  "  but  you  named 
them  yourselves.  What  do  you  say  you  've  drawn 
when  you  draw  a  homely  girl's  name  out  of  the  hat  as 
a  partner  for  a  class  party  ? " 


Votes  From  Women  273 

"Oh!  "said  I. 

"  We  're  the  Blanks,"  said  Miss  Hicks,  "  and  we 
feel  that  we  have  n't  been  getting  our  full  share  of 
college  atmosphere.  So  we  're  going  into  politics. 
In  this  way  we  can  mingle  with  the  students  and  help 
run  things  and  have  a  very  enjoyable  time.  It 's 
most  fascinating.  All  of  us  are  dippy  over  it." 

"  Oh,"  said  I  again.  "  You  mean  you  're  going 
to  ruin  things  for  your  own  selfish  interests  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Miss  Hicks  —  my,  but  that 
grated  —  "  we  're  not  going  to  ruin  anything.  And 
we  may  build  up  the  Oratorical  Association." 

That  was  too  much.  I  got  up  and  stood  as  nearly 
ten  feet  as  I  could.  "  Very  well,"  said  I.  "  If 
there  's  no  use  of  arguing  on  a  reasonable  basis  we 
may  as  well  terminate  this  interview.  But  I  '11  just 
tell  you  there  's  no  use  of  your  going  any  further. 
Now  we  know  what  we  have  to  fight,  we  '11  take 
precious  good  care  that  you  do  not  do  any  more 
mischief." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Miss  Hicks  —  she  was  in- 
furiatingly  good-natured  — "  but  I  might  as  well 
tell  you  that  we  're  going  to  get  the  Athletic  offices, 
the  prom  committee,  the  Oratorical  offices  and  the 
Athletic  election  next  spring." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  said  I  loudly  and  rudely.  Then  I 
took  my  hat  and  went  away.  Miss  Hicks  asked  me 
very  eagerly  to  drop  in  again.  Me  ?  I  'd  as  soon 
have  dropped  on  a  Mexican  cactus.  It  could  n't  be 
any  more  uncomfortable. 


274  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

I  went  away  and  called  our  gang  together  and 
we  seethed  over  the  situation  most  all  night.  They 
voted  me  campaign  leader  on  the  strength  of  my  ser 
vice,  and  the  next  day  we  got  the  rest  of  the  frats 
together,  buried  the  hatchet  and  doped  out  the  cam 
paign.  It  was  the  pride  and  strength  of  Siwash 
against  a  red-headed  Missouri  girl,  weight  about 
ninety-five  pounds;  and  we  couldn't  help  feeling 
sorry  for  her.  But  she  had  brought  it  on  herself. 
Insurgency,  Miss  Allstairs,  is  a  very  wicked  thing. 
It 's  a  despicable  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  minority 
to  become  the  majority,  and  no  true  patriot  will  de 
sert  the  majority  in  his  time  of  need. 

I  'm  not  going  to  linger  over  the  next  month.  I  '11 
get  it  over  in  a  few  words.  We  started  out  to  ex 
terminate  Miss  Hicks.  We  put  up  our  candidate 
for  the  Oratorical  Association  presidency.  The  hall 
was  jammed  jsvhen  the  time  came,  and  before  any 
thing  could  be  done  Miss  Hicks  demanded  that  no 
one  be  allowed  to  vote  who  had  n't  paid  his  or  her 
dues.  Half  the  fellows  we  had  there  never  had 
any  intention  of  getting  that  far  into  Oratorical 
work,  and  backed  out;  but  the  rest  of  us  paid  up. 
There  had  never  been  so  much  money  in  the  treas 
ury  since  the  association  began.  Then  the  Blanks 
nominated  a  candidate  and  skinned  us  by  three  votes. 
When  we  thought  of  all  that  money  gone  to  waste 
we  almost  went  crazy. 

But  that  was  just  a  starter.  We  were  determined 
to  have  our  own  way  about  the  Junior  prom.  What 


Votes  From  Women  275 

do  wall-flowers  know  about  running  a  prom?  We 
worked  up  an  absolute  majority  in  the  Junior  class, 
only  to  have  a  snap  meeting  called  on  us  over  in 
Browning  Hall,  in  which  three  middle-aged  young 
ladies  who  had  never  danced  a  step  were  named, 
The  roar  we  raised  was  terrific,  but  the  presiden' 
sweetly  informed  us  that  they  had  only  followed 
precedent  —  we  'd  had  to  do  the  same  thing  the 
year  before  to  keep  out  the  Mu  Kow  Moos.  We 
appealed  to  the  Faculty,  and  it  laughed  at  us.  Un 
fortunately,  we  didn't  stand  any  too  well  there 
anyway,  while  most  of  the  Blanks  were  the  pride 
and  joy  of  the  professors.  Anyway,  they  told  us 
to  fight  our  own  battles  and  they  'd  see  that  there 
was  fair  play.  Oh,  yes.  They  saw  it.  They 
passed  a  rule  that  no  student  who  was  conditioned 
in  any  study  could  vote  in  any  college  election. 
That  disenfranchised  about  half  of  us  right  on  the 
spot.  If  ever  anarchy  breaks  out  in  this  country, 
Miss  Allstairs,  it  will  be  because  of  college  Faculties. 
We  made  a  last  stand  on  the  Athletic  Association 
treasurership.  It  looked  for  a  while  as  if  it  was 
going  to  be  easy.  We  threw  all  the  rules  away  and 
gave  a  magnificent  party  for  all  the  girls  we  thought 
we  could  count  on.  It  was  the  most  gorgeous  affair 
on  record,  and  half  the  dress  suits  in  college  went 
into  hock  afterward  for  the  whole  semester.  The 
result  was  most  encouraging.  The  girls  were  de 
lighted.  They  pledged  their  votes  and  support 
and  we  counted  up  that  we  had  a  clear  majority. 


276  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

We  went  to  bed  that  night  happy  and  woke  up  to 
find  that  Miss  Hicks  had  entertained  the  non-frater 
nity  men  in  the  gymnasium  that  night  and  had 
served  lemonade  and  wafers.  She  had  alluded  to 
them  playfully  as  slaves,  and  they  had  broken  up 
about  fifty  chairs  demonstrating  that  they  were  not. 
When  the  election  came  off  she  had  the  unattached 
vote  solid,  and  we  lost  out  by  a  comfortable  major 
ity.  An  estimable  lady,  who  did  n't  know  ath 
letics  from  croquet,  was  elected.  And  when  the 
reception  committee  of  the  prom  was  announced  the 
next  day  it  was  composed  exclusively  of  men  who 
would  have  had  to  be  led  through  the  grand  march 
on  wheels. 

After  that  we  gave  up.  I  tried  to  resign  as  cam 
paign  manager,  but  the  boys  would  n't  let  me.  They 
admitted  that  no  one  else  could  have  done  any  better, 
and,  besides,  they  wanted  me  to  go  over  and  see  Miss 
Hicks  again.  They  wanted  me  to  ask  her  what  her 
crowd  wanted.  When  I  thought  of  her  pleasant 
conversational  hatpin  work  I  felt  like  resigning  from 
college;  but  there  always  have  to  be  martyrs,  and 
in  the  end  I  went. 

Miss  Hicks  received  me  rapturously.  You  would 
have  thought  we  had  been  boy  and  girl  friends.  She 
insisted  on  asking  how  all  the  folks  were  at  home, 
and  how  my  health  had  been,  and  had  n't  it  been  a 
gay  winter,  and  was  I  going  to  the  prom,  and 
how  did  I  like  her  new  gown?  While  I  was  at  it 
I  thought  I  might  as  well  amuse  myself,  too,  so  I 


Votes  From  Women  277 

asked  her  to  marry  me.  That  was  the  only  time  I 
ever  got  ahead  of  her.  She  refused  indignantly, 
and  I  laughed  at  her  for  getting  so  fussed  up  over  a 
little  thing. 

"  Marriage  is  a  sacred  subject,"  she  said  very 
soberly. 

"  So  was  politics,"  said  I,  "  until  you  came  along. 
If  you  won't  talk  marriage  let 's  talk  politics.  What 
do  you  girls  want  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  told  you  a  while  ago,"  she  said. 

"  But,  Great  Scott !  "  said  I.  "  Are  n't  you  going 
to  leave  a  thing  for  us  fellows  who  have  done  our 
best  for  the  college  ?  " 

"  Now  you  put  it  that  way,"  she  said  quite  kindly, 
"  I  '11  think  it  over.  We  might  find  something 
for  you  to  do.  There 's  a  couple  of  janitorships 
loose." 

"  Hicksey,"  says  I. 

"  Miss  Hicks,"  says  she. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  —  my  dear  girl,  then,"  said 
I.  "  I  've  come  over  to  the  bunch  to  confess. 
You  've  busted  us.  We  're  on  the  mat  nine  points 
down  and  yelling  for  help.  We  don't  want  to  run 
things.  We  only  want  to  be  allowed  to  live.  We 
surrender.  We  give  up.  We  humbly  ask  that  you 
prepare  the  crow  and  let  us  eat  the  neck.  Is  n't 
there  any  way  by  which  we  can  get  a  little  something 
to  keep  us  busy  and  happy  ?  We  're  in  a  horrible 
situation.  Are  n't  you  even  going  to  let  us  have 
the  Athletic  Association  next  spring  ?  " 


278  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

"  I  was  thinking  of  running  that  myself,"  said 
Miss  Hicks  thoughtfully. 

I  let  out  an  impolite  groan. 

"  But  I  '11  tell  you  what  you  might  do,"  said  Miss 
Hicks.  "  You  boys  might  try  to  win  my  crowd 
away  from  me.  You  see,  you  've  played  right  into 
my  hand  so  far.  You  haven't  paid  any  attention 
to  my  supporters.  Now,  if  you  were  to  go  after 
them  the  way  you  do  the  other  girls  in  the  college  I 
shudder  to  think  what  might  happen  to  me." 

"  You  mean  take  them  to  parties  and  theaters  ? " 

"Why  not?"  asked  Miss  Hicks.  "You  see, 
they  're  only  human.  I  '11  bet  you  could  land  every 
vote  in  the  bunch  if  you  went  at  it  scientifically." 

"But  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  they  're  not  pretty,"  said  Miss 
Hicks.  "  But  they  cast  the  most  bee-you-ti-ful  votes 
you  ever  saw." 

"  What  you  mean,"  I  said,  "  is  that  if  we  don't 
show  those  girls  a  superlatively  good  time  this  winter 
we  won't  get  a  look  at  the  election  next  spring  ? " 

"  They  'd  be  awfully  shocked  if  you  put  it  that 
way,"  said  Miss  Hicks ;  "  and  I  would  n't  advise 
you  to  talk  to  them  about  it.  Their  notions  of  honor 
are  so  high  that  I  had  to  pay  for  the  lemonade  for 
the  independent  men  myself  at  the  last  election." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  says  I,  taking  my  hat,  "  we  '11 
think  it  over." 

"  You  might  wear  blinders,  you  know,"  she  sug 
gested. 


Votes  From  Women  279 

"  Oh,  go  to  thunder !  "  said  I  as  earnestly  as  I 
could. 

"  Come  again,"  she  said  when  she  closed  the  door 
after  me.  "  I  do  so  enjoy  these  little  confidences." 

Honestly,  Miss  Allstairs,  when  I  think  of  that 
girl  I  shrink  up  until  I  'm  afraid  I  '11  fall  into  my 
own  hat.  It  ought  not  to  be  legal  for  a  girl  to  talk  to 
a  man  like  that.  It 's  inhuman. 

We  thought  matters  over  for  two  weeks  and  tried 
one  or  two  little  raids  on  the  enemy  with  most  hor 
rible  results  to  ourselves.  Then  we  gave  in.  We  put 
our  pride  and  our  devotion  to  art  in  cold  storage  and 
took  up  the  politicians'  burden.  We  gave  those  girls 
the  time  of  their  young-to-middle-aged  lives.  We 
got  up  dances  and  crokinole  parties  and  concerts  for 
them.  We  took  them  to  see  Hamlet.  We  had 
sleighing  parties.  We  helped  every  lecture  course 
in  the  college  do  a  rushing  business.  We  just  backed 
into  the  shafts  and  took  the  bit  without  a  murmur. 
And  maybe  you  think  those  girls  did  n't  drive  us. 
They  seemed  determined  to  make  up  for  the 
drought  of  all  the  past.  They  were  as  coy  and  un 
certain  and  as  infernally  hard  to  please  as  if  they  'd 
been  used  to  getting  one  proposal  a  day  and  two  on 
Sunday.  Let  one  of  us  so  much  as  drop  over  to 
Browning  Hall  to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  one  of 
the  real  heart-disturbers,  and  the  particular  vote  that 
he  was  courting  would  go  off  the  reservation  for  a 
week.  It  would  take  a  pair  of  theater  tickets  at 
the  least  to  square  things. 


280  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

We  gave  dances  that  winter  at  which  only  one  in 
five  girls  could  dance.  We  took  moonlight  strolls 
with  ladies  who  could  remember  the  moon  of  seventy- 
six,  and  we  gave  strawrides  to  girls  who  insisted  on 
talking  history  of  art  and  missionary  work  to  us  all 
the  way.  When  I  think  of  the  tons  of  candy  and 
the  mountains  of  flowers  and  the  wagonloads  of  lat 
est  books  that  we  lavished,  and  of  the  hard  feelings 
it  made  in  other  quarters,  and  of  our  loneliness  amid 
all  this  gayety,  and  of  our  frantic  efforts  to  make  the 
prom  a  success,  with  ten  couples  dancing  and  the  rest 
decorating  the  walls,  I  sometimes  wonder  whether 
the  college  was  worth  our  great  love  for  it  after  all. 

But  we  were  winning  out.  By  April  it  was  easy 
to  see  this.  The  Blanks  thawed  with  the  snow 
drifts.  They  got  real  friendly  and  sociable,  and 
after  the  warm  weather  came  on  we  simply  had  to 
entertain  them  all  the  time,  they  liked  it  so.  When 
I  think  of  those  beautiful  spring  days,  with  us  saun 
tering  with  our  political  fates  about  the  campus, 
and  the  nicest  girls  in  the  world  walking  two  and 
two  all  by  themselves  —  Oh,  gee !  Why,  they  even 
made  us  cut  chapel  to  go  walking  with  them,  just 
as  if  it  was  a  genuine  case  of  "  Oh,  those  eyes !  "  and 
"  Shut  up,  you  thumping  heart." 

All  this  time  Miss  Hicks  would  n't  accept  any  in 
vitation  at  all.  She  just  flocked  by  herself  as  usual, 
and  watched  us  taking  her  votes  away  from  her 
without  any  concern  apparently.  I  always  felt  that 
she  had  something  saved  up  for  us,  but  I  couldn't 


Why,  they  even  made  us  cut  chapel  to  go  walking 
with  them 

Page  280 


Votes  From  Women  281 

tell  what  it  was;  and  anyway,  we  had  those  votes. 
By  the  time  the  Athletic  election  came  around  there 
was  n't  a  doubt  of  it. 

I  must  say  the  women  did  pretty  well  during  the 
year.  They  'd  cleaned  up  the  Oratorical  debt,  and 
somehow  there  was  about  three  times  as  much  money 
in  the  Athletic  treasury  after  the  football  season  as 
there  had  ever  been  before.  But  they  'd  raised  a  lot 
of  trouble  too.  No  passes.  Dues  had  to  be  paid  up. 
Nobody  got  any  fun  out  of  the  class  affairs.  They  got 
up  lectures  and  teas  and  made  the  class  pay  for  them. 
And,  anyway,  we  wanted  to  run  things  again. 
We  'd  felt  all  year  like  a  bunch  of  last  year's  sun 
flowers.  Besides,  we  'd  earned  it.  We  'd  earned  a 
starry  crown  as  a  matter  of  fact,  but  all  we  asked 
was  that  they  give  our  little  old  Athletic  Association 
back  and  let  us  run  it  once  more. 

Miss  Hicks  announced  herself  as  a  candidate,  and 
we  felt  sorry  for  her.  Not  one  of  her  gang  was  with 
her.  They  were  enthusiastically  for  us.  We  'd 
planned  the  biggest  party  of  the  year  right  after  the 
election  in  celebration,  and  had  invited  them  already. 
Election  day  came  and  we  hardly  worried  a  bit. 
The  result  was  189  to  197  in  favor  of  Miss  Hicks. 
Every  independent  man  and  every  bang-up-to-date 
girl  in  college  voted  for  her. 

Of  course  it  looks  simple  enough  now,  but  why 
could  n't  we  see  it  then  ?  We  supposed  the  real  girls 
knew  that  it  was  a  case  of  college  patriotism.  And,  of 
course,  it  was  a  low-lived  trick  for  Miss  Hicks  to 


282  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

float  around  the  last  day  and  spread  the  impression 
that  we  'd  never  loved  them  except  for  their  votes. 
She  simply  traded  constituencies  with  us,  that 's  all. 
Take  it  coming  or  going,  year  in  or  year  out,  you 
could  n't  beat  that  girl.  I  '11  bet  she  goes  out  to 
Washington  state  and  gets  elected  governor  some  day. 

I  went  over  to  Browning  Hall  the  night  after  the 
election,  ready  to  tell  Miss  Hicks  just  what  every 
body  thought  of  her.  I  was  prepared  to  tell  her  that 
every  athletic  team  in  college  was  going  to  disband 
and  that  anarchy  would  be  declared  in  the  morning. 
She  came  down  as  pleasant  as  ever  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"  Don't  say  it,  please,"  she  said,  "  because  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you  something.  I  'm  not  coming  back 
next  year." 

"  Not  coming  back !  "  said  I,  gulping  down  a  piece 
of  Belief  as  big  as  an  apple. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  'm  —  I  'm  going  to  be  mar 
ried  this  summer.  I  've  —  I  Ve  been  engaged  all 
this  year  to  a  man  back  home,  but  I  wanted  to  come 
back  and  learn  something  about  politics.  He 's  a 
lawyer." 

"  Well,  you  learned  enough  to  suit  you,  did  n't 
you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  with  a  giggle.  "  Was  n't  it 
fun,  though !  My  father  will  be  so  pleased.  He  's 
the  chairman  of  the  congressional  committee  out  at 
home  and  he  's  always  told  me  an  awful  lot  about 
politics.  I  've  enjoyed  this  year  so  much." 


Votes  From  Women  283 

"  Well,  I  have  n't,"  I  said ;  "  but  I  hope  to  enjoy 
next  year."  And  then  I  took  half  an  hour  to  tell  her 
that,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was  the  most  arrant, 
deceitful,  unreliable,  two-faced  and  scuttling  poli 
tician  in  the  world,  she  was  almost  incredibly  nice. 
She  listened  quite  patiently,  and  at  the  end  she  held 
up  her  fingers.  They  'd  been  crossed  all  the  time. 

No,  that 's  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  her,  Miss  All- 
stairs.  She  left  before  Commencement.  She  sent 
me  an  invitation  to  the  wedding.  I  '11  bet  she 
did  n't  quite  get  the  significance  of  the  magnificent 
silver  set  we  Siwash  boys  sent.  We  sent  it  to  the 
groom. 

That  was  the  end  of  women  dominion  at  Siwash. 
There  wasn't  a  rag  of  the  movement  left  next  fall. 
But  we  boys  never  entirely  forgot  what  happened 
to  us,  and  it 's  still  the  custom  to  elect  a  co-ed  to 
some  Athletic  office.  They  do  say  that  the  only  way 
to  teach  a  politician  what  the  people  want  is  to  bore 
a  shaft  in  his  head  and  shout  it  in,  but  our  expe 
rience  ought  to  be  proof  to  the  contrary.  Why,  all  we 
needed  was  the  gentle  little  hint  that  Mary  Jane 
Hicks  gave  us. 


CHAPTER   XI 

SIO    TRANSIT    GLORIA    AJLL-AMERICA 

HOW  did  the  Siwash  game  come  out  Saturday? 
Forget  it,  my  boy.  You  '11  never  know  in  this 
oversized,  ingrowing,  fenced-off,  insulated  metropolis 
till  some  one  writes  and  tells  you.  Every  fall  I 
ask  myself  that  same  question  all  day  Saturday  and 
Sunday,  and  do  you  suppose  I  ever  find  a  Siwash 
score  in  one  of  those  muddy-faced,  red-headed,  ward- 
gossip  parties  that  they  call  newspapers  in  New  York  ? 
Never,  not  at  all,  you  hopeful  tenderfoot  from  the 
unimportant  West.  After  you  've  existed  in  this 
secluded  portion  of  the  universe  a  few  years  you  '11 
get  over  trying  to  find  anything  that  looks  like  news 
from  home  in  the  daily  disturbances  here.  And  I 
don't  care  whether  your  home  is  in  Buffalo,  Chicago 
or  Strawberry  Point,  Iowa,  either.  Go  down  on  the 
East  Side  and  beat  up  a  policeman,  and  you  '11  get 
immortalized  in  ten-inch  type.  Go  back  West  and  get 
elected  governor,  and  ten  to  one  if  you  're  mentioned 
at  all  they  '11  slip  you  the  wrong  state  to  preside  over. 
Excuse  me,  but  I  'm  considerably  sore,  just  as  I 
am  every  Sunday  during  the  football  season.  Here 
I  am,  eating  my  heart  out  with  longing  to  know 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       285 

whether  good  old  Siwash  has  dusted  off  half  a  town 
ship  with  Muggledorfer  again,  and  what  do  I  get  to 
read  ?  Four  yards  of  Gale ;  five  yards  of  Jarhard ; 
two  yards  of  Ohell;  and  a  page  of  Quincetown, 
Hardmouth,  Jamhurst,  Saint  Mikes,  Holy  Moses 
College  and  the  Connecticut  Institute  of  Etymology. 
Nice  fodder  for  a  loyal  alumnus  eleven  hundred  and 
then  some  miles  from  home,  is  n't  it  ?  Honest,  when 
I  first  hit  this  seething  burg  I  used  to  go  down  to 
the  Grand  Central  station  on  Sunday  afternoon  and 
look  at  the  people  coming  in  from  the  trains,  just 
because  some  of  them  were  from  the  West.  Once  I 
took  a  New  Yorker  up  to  Riverside  Park,  pointed 
him  west  and  asked  him  what  he  saw.  He  said  he 
saw  a  ferryboat  coming  to  New  York.  That  was  all 
he  had  ever  seen  of  the  other  shore.  He  called  it 
Hinterland.  That  made  me  mad  and  I  called  him 
an  electric-light  bug.  We  had  a  lovely  row. 

But  we  're  blasting  out  a  corner  for  the  old  coll., 
even  back  here.  We  've  got  things  fixed  pretty  nicely 
here  now,  we  Siwash  men.  Down  near  Gramercy 
Park  there  's  an  old-fashioned  city  dwelling  house, 
four  stories  high  and  elbow-room  wide.  It 's  the 
Siwash  Alumni  Club.  There  are  half  a  hundred 
Siwash  men  in  New  York,  gradually  getting  into  the 
king  row  in  various  lines  of  business,  and  we  pay 
enough  rent  each  year  for  that  house  to  buy  a  pretty 
fair  little  cottage  out  in  Jonesville.  Whenever  a 
Siwash  man  drops  in  there  he  's  pretty  sure  to  find 
another  Siwash  man  who  smokes  the  same  brand  of 


286  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

tobacco  and  knows  the  same  brand  of  college  songs. 
We  Ve  got  one  legislator,  four  magazine  publishers, 
two  railroad  officials,  a  city  prosecutor  and  three 
bankers  on  the  membership  roll,  and  maybe  some 
day  we  '11  have  a  mayor.  Then  we  '11  pass  a  law 
requiring  the  boys  and  girls  of  New  York  to  spend 
at  least  one  hour  a  day  learning  about  Siwash  Col 
lege,  Jonesville,  the  big  team  of  naughty-nix  and 
the  formula  for  getting  credit  at  the  Horseshoe  Cafe. 
We  '11  make  it  obligatory  for  every  newspaper  to  pub 
lish  a  full  page  about  each  Siwash  game  in  the  fall, 
with  pictures  of  the  captain,  the  coach  and  the  full 
back's  right  leg.  Hurrah  for  revenge!  I  see  it 
coming. 

Join  the  club  ?  Why,  you  don't  have  to  ask  to  join 
it.  You  've  got  to  join  it.  Ten  dollars,  please,  and 
sign  here.  When  we  get  a  little  huskier  financially 
we  won't  charge  new-fledged  graduates  anything  for 
a  year  or  two,  but  we  Ve  got  to  now.  The  soulless 
landlord  wants  his  rent  in  advance.  You  '11  find  the 
whole  gang  there  Saturday  nights.  Just  butt  right 
in  if  I  'm  not  around.  You  're  a  Siwash  man,  and 
if  you  want  to  borrow  the  doorknob  to  throw  at  a 
hackman  you  Ve  a  perfect  right  to  do  it. 

I  '11  tell  you,  old  man,  you  don't  know  how  nice 
it  is  to  have  a  hole  that  you  can  hunt  in  this  hurri 
cane  town,  when  you  're  a  bright  young  chap  with  a 
glorious  college  past  and  a  business  future  that  you 
can't  hock  for  a  plate  of  beans  a  day !  Leaving  col 
lege  and  going  into  business  in  a  big  city  is  like 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       287 

taking  a  high  dive  from  the  hall  of  fame  into  an 
ice-water  tank.  Think  of  that  and  be  cheerful. 
You  've  got  a  nice  time  coming.  Just  now  you  're 
Rudolph  Weedon  Burlingame,  Siwash  Naughty- 
several,  late  captain  of  the  baseball  team,  prize 
orator,  manager  of  two  proms  and  president  of  the 
Senior  class.  To-morrow  you  '11  be  a  nameless  cum- 
berer  of  busy  streets,  useful  only  to  the  street-car 
companies  to  shake  down  for  nickels.  To-morrow 
you  're  going  around  to  the  manager  of  some  firm 
or  other  with  a  letter  from  some  customer  of  his,  and 
you  're  going  to  put  your  hand  on  your  college  di 
ploma  so  as  to  have  it  handy,  and  you  're  going  to 
hand  him  the  letter  and  prepare  to  tell  the  story  of 
your  strong  young  life.  But  just  before  you  begin 
you  '11  go  away,  because  the  manager  will  tell  you 
he  's  sorry,  but  he 's  busy,  and  there  are  fourteen 
applicants  ahead  of  you,  and  anyway  he  '11  not  be 
hiring  any  more  men  until  1918,  and  will  you  please 
come  around  then,  and  shut  the  door  behind  you,  if 
you  don't  mind. 

Yep,  that 's  what  will  happen  to  you.  You  '11 
spend  your  first  three  days  trying  to  haul  that 
diploma  out.  The  fourth  day  you  '11  put  it  in  your 
trunk.  I  've  known  men  to  cut  'em  up  for  shaving 
paper.  You  '11  stop  trying  to  tell  the  story  of  your 
life  and  in  about  a  week  you  '11  be  wondering  why 
you  have  been  allowed  to  live  so  long.  In  two  weeks 
a  clerk  will  look  as  big  as  a  senator  to  you  and 
you  '11  begin  to  get  bashful  before  elevator  men. 


288  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

You  '11  get  off  the  sidewalk  when  you  see  a  man  who 
looks  as  if  he  had  a  job  and  was  in  a  hurry.  You  '11 
envy  a  messenger  boy  with  a  job  and  a  future ;  you  '11 
wonder  if  managers  are  really  carnivorous  or  only 
pretend  to  be.  You  feel  as  tall  as  the  Singer  Build 
ing  to-day,  but  you  '11  shrink  before  long.  You  '11 
shrink  until,  after  a  long,  hard  day,  with  about  nine 
turndowns  in  it,  you  '11  have  to  climb  up  on  top  of 
the  dresser  to  look  at  yourself  in  the  glass. 

That 's  what  you  're  going  up  against.  Then  the 
Siwash  Club  will  be  your  hole  and  you  '11  hunt  it 
every  evening.  You  '11  be  a  big  man  there,  for  we 
judge  our  members  not  by  what  they  are,  but  by  what 
they  were  at  school.  You  '11  sit  around  with  the  boys 
after  dinner,  and  the  man  on  your  right,  who  is  run 
ning  a  railroad,  will  be  interested  in  that  home  run 
you  made  against  Muggledorfer,  and  the  man  on  your 
left,  who  won't  touch  a  law  case  for  less  than  five 
thousand  dollars,  will  tell  you  that  he,  too,  won  the 
Perkins  debate  once.  And  he  '11  treat  you  as  if 
you  were  a  real  life-sized  human  being  instead  of  a 
job  hunter,  knee  high  to  a  copying  clerk.  You  '11 
be  back  in  the  old  college  atmosphere,  as  big  as  the 
best  of  'em,  and  after  you  've  swapped  yarns  all 
evening  you  '11  go  to  bed  full  of  tabasco  and  pepper, 
and  you  '11  tackle  the  first  manager  the  next  morn 
ing  as  if  he  were  a  Kiowa  man  and  had  the  ball. 
And  sooner  or  later  you  '11  get  old  Mr.  Opportunity 
where  he  can't  give  you  the  straight  arm,  and  if 
you  don't  put  a  knee  in  his  chest  and  tame  him  for 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America      289 

life  you  have  n'*t  got  the  real  Si  wash  spirit,  that 's 
all.  ' 

Funny  thing  about  college.  It  isn't  merely  an 
education.  It 's  a  whole  life  in  itself.  You  enter  it 
unknown  and  tiny  —  just  a  Freshman  with  no  rights 
on  earth.  You  work  and  toil  and  suffer  —  and  fall 
in  love  —  and  climb  and  rise  to  fame.  When  you 
are  a  Senior,  if  you  have  good  luck,  you  are  one  of 
the  biggest  things  in  the  whole  world  —  for  there 
is  n't  any  world  but  the  campus  at  college.  Freshmen 
look  up  to  you  and  admire  men  who  are  big  enough 
to  talk  with  you.  The  Sophomores  may  sneer  at 
faculties  and  kings,  but  they  would  n't  think  of 
sassing  you.  The  papers  publish  your  picture  in 
your  football  clothes.  You  dine  with  the  professors, 
and  prominent  alumni  come  back  and  shake  you  by 
the  hand.  Of  course,  you  know  that  somewhere  in 
the  dim  nebulous  outside  there  is  a  President  of  the 
United  States  who  is  quite  a  party  in  his  way,  but 
none  of  the  girls  mention  it  when  they  tell  you  how 
grand  you  looked  after  they  had  hauled  the  other 
team  off  of  you  and  sewed  on  your  ear.  They  talk 
about  you  exclusively  because  you  're  really  the  only 
thing  worth  talking  about,  you  know. 

When  Commencement  comes  you  move  about  the 
campus  like  some  tall  mountain  peak  on  legs.  The 
students  bring  their  young  brothers  up  to  meet  you 
and  you  try  to  be  kind  and  approachable.  They  give 
you  a  tremendous  cheer  when  you  go  down  the  aisle 
in  the  chapel  to  get  your  prizes.  You  are  referred 


290  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

to  on  all  sides  as  one  of  the  reasons  why  America  is 
great.  The  professors  when  they  bid  you  good-by  ask 
you  anxiously  not  to  forget  them.  Then  Commence 
ment  is  over  and  college  life  is  past,  and  there  is 
nothing  left  in  life  but  to  become  a  senator  or  run 
a  darned  old  trust.  You  leave  the  campus,  taking 
care  not  to  step  on  any  of  the  buildings,  and  go  out 
into  the  world  pretty  blue  because  you  're  through 
with  about  everything  worth  while ;  and  you  wonder 
if  you  can  stand  it  to  toil  away  making  history  eleven 
months  in  the  year  with  only  time  to  hang  around 
college  a  few  weeks  in  spring  or  fall.  You  're  done 
with  the  real  life.  You  're  an  old  man,  you  've  seen 
it  all ;  and  it  sometimes  takes  you  two  weeks  or  more 
to  recover  and  decide  that  after  all  a  great  career 
may  be  almost  as  interesting  in  a  way  as  college  itself. 
So  you  buck  up  and  decide  to  accept  the  career  — 
and  that 's  where  you  begin  to  catch  on  to  the  general 
drift  of  the  universe  in  dead  earnest. 

Take  a  man  of  sixty,  with  a  permanent  place  in 
Who  's  Who  and  a  large  circle  of  people  who  believe 
that  he  has  some  influence  with  the  sunrise  and  sun 
set.  Then  let  him  suddenly  find  himself  a  ten-year- 
old  boy  with  two  empty  pockets  and  an  appetite  for 
assets,  and  let  him  learn  that  it  is  n't  considered  even 
an  impertinence  to  spank  him  whenever  he  tries  to 
mix  in  and  air  his  opinions.  I  don't  believe  he  would 
be  much  more  shocked  than  the  college  man  who  finds, 
at  the  conclusion  of  a  glorious  four-year  slosh  in 
fame,  that  he  is  really  just  about  to  begin  life,  and 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All- America       291 

that  the  first  thing  he  must  learn  is  to  keep  out  from 
under  foot  and  say  "  Yes,  sir,"  when  the  boss  barks  at 
him.  It 's  a  painful  thing,  Burlingame.  Took  me 
about  a  year  to  think  of  it  without  saying  "  ouch." 

The  saddest  thing  about  it  all  is  that  the  two 
careers  don't  always  mesh.  The  college  athlete  may 
discover  that  the  only  use  the  world  has  for  talented 
shoulder  muscles  is  for  hod-carrying  purposes.  The 
society  fashion  plate  may  never  get  the  hang  of  how 
to  earn  anything  but  last  year's  model  pants;  and 
the  fishy-eyed  nonentity,  who  never  did  anything 
more  glorious  in  college  than  pay  his  class  tax,  may 
be  doing  a  brokerage  business  in  skyscrapers  within 
ten  years. 

When  I  left  Siwash  and  came  to  New  York  I 
guess  I  was  as  big  as  the  next  graduate.  Of  course 
I  had  n't  been  the  one  best  bet  on  the  campus,  but  I 
knew  all  the  college  celebrities  well  enough  to  slap 
them  on  the  backs  and  call  them  by  pet  names  and 
lend  them  money.  That  of  course  should  be  a  great 
assistance  in  knowing  just  how  to  approach  the  presi 
dent  of  a  big  city  bank  and  touch  him  for  a  cigar 
in  a  red-and-gold  corset,  while  he  is  telling  you  to 
make  yourself  at  home  around  the  place  until  a  job 
turns  up.  Allie  Bangs,  my  chum,  went  on  East  with 
me.  We  had  decided  to  rise  side  by  side  and  to  buy 
the  same  make  of  yachts.  Of  course  we  were  sensible. 
We  did  n't  expect  to  crowd  out  any  magnates  the  first 
week  or  two.  We  intended  to  rise  by  honest  worth, 
if  it  took  a  whole  year.  All  we  asked  was  that  the 


292 


At  Good  Old  Siwash 


fellows  ahead  should  take  care  of  themselves  and  not 
hold  it  against  us  if  we  ran  over  them  from  behind. 
We  didn't  think  we  were  the  biggest  men  on  earth 
—  not  yet.  That's  where  we  fell  down.  We've 
never  had  a  chance  to  since.  You've  got  to  seize 
the  opportunity  for  having  a  swelled  head  just  as  you 
have  for  everything  else. 

It  took  us  just  six  weeks  to  get  a  toe-hold  on  the 
earth  and  establish  our  right  to  breathe  our  fair  share 
of  New  York  air.  At  the  end  of  that  time  neither 
one  of  us  would  have  been  surprised  if  we  had  been 
charged  rent  while  waiting  in  the  ante-rooms  of  New 
York  offices  to  be  told  that  no  one  had  time  to  tell 
us  that  there  was  no  use  of  our  waiting  to  get  a 
chance  to  ask  for  anything.  Talk  about  a  come 
down  !  It  was  worse  than  coming  down  a  bump-the- 
bumps  with  nails  in  it.  It  was  three  months  before 
we  got  jobs.  They  were  microscopic  jobs  in  the  same 
company,  with  wages  that  were  so  small  that  it 
seemed  a  shame  to  make  out  our  weekly  checks  on 
nice  engraved  bank  paper  —  jobs  where  any  one  from 
the  proprietor  down  could  yell  "  Here,  you !  "  and 
the  office  boy  could  have  fired  us  and  got  away  with 
it.  If  I  had  been  hanging  on  to  a  rope  trailing 
behind  a  fifty-thousand-ton  ocean  liner  I  don't  be 
lieve  I  should  have  felt  more  inconsequential  and 
totally  superfluous. 

But  they  were  jobs  just  the  same  and  we  were 
game.  I  think  most  college  graduates  are  after  they 
get  their  feelings  reduced  to  normal  size.  We  hung 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       293 

on  and  dug  in,  and  sneaked  more  work  into  our 
positions,  and  did  n't  quarrel  with  any  one  except  the 
window-washer's  little  boy  who  brought  meat  for  the 
cats  in  the  basement.  We  drew  the  line  at  letting 
him  boss  us.  And  how  we  did  enjoy  being  part  of 
the  big  rumpus  on  Manhattan  Island.  We  had  a 
room  —  it  was  n't  so  much  of  a  room  as  it  was  a  sort 
of  stationary  vest  —  and  we  ate  at  those  hunger  cures 
where  a  girl  punches  out  your  bill  on  a  little  ticket 
and  you  don't  dare  eat  up  above  the  third  figure 
from  the  bottom  or  you  '11  go  broke  on  Friday.  By 
hook  or  crook  we  always  managed  to  save  a  dollar  from 
the  wreckage  each  week  for  Sunday,  and  say,  did  you 
ever  conduct  a  scientific  investigation  into  just  how  far 
a  dollar  will  go  providing  a  day's  pleasure  in  a  big 
city?  We  did  that  for  six  months,  and  if  I  do  say 
it  myself  we  stretched  some  of  those  dollars  until  the 
eagle's  neck  reached  from  Tarrytown  to  Coney  Island. 
We  saw  New  York  from  roofgarden  to  subcellar.  We 
even  got  to  doing  fancy  stunts.  WTe  'd  dig  out  our 
dress  suits,  go  over  to  one  of  those  cafes  where  you 
begin  owing  money  as  soon  as  you  see  the  head  waiter, 
and  put  on  a  bored  and  haughty  front  for  two  hours 
on  a  dollar  and  twenty  cents,  including  tips.  And 
what  we  did  n't  know  about  the  Subway,  the  Snubway 
and  the  Grubway,  the  Clubway,  and  the  various  Dub- 
ways  of  New  York  was  n't  worth  discovering  or  even 
imagining. 

We  had  n't  been  conducting  our  explorations  for 
more  than  a  week  when  a  most  tremendous  thing 


294  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

happened  to  us.  You  know  how  you  are  always  run 
ning  up  against  mastodons  in  the  big  town.  You  see 
about  every  one  who  is  big  enough  to  die  in  scare- 
heads.  Taking  a  stroll  down  Fifth  Avenue  with  an 
old  residenter  and  having  him  tell  about  the  people 
you  pass  is  like  having  the  hall  of  fame  directory  read 
off  to  you.  Well,  one  Sunday  night  when  we  were 
blowing  in  our  little  fifty  cents  apiece  on  one  of  those 
Italian  table  d'hote  dinners  with  red  varnish  free, 
Allie  looked  across  the  room  and  began  to  tremble. 
"  Look  at  that  chap,"  says  he. 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  I  asked,  getting  interested. 
"Roosevelt?" 

"  Roosevelt  nothing,"  he  says  scornfully.  "  Man 
alive,  that 's  Jarvis !  " 

I  just  dropped  my  jaw  and  stared.  Of  course  you 
remember  Jarvis,  the  great  football  player.  At  that 
time  I  guess  most  of  the  college  boys  in  America  said 
their  prayers  to  him.  Out  West  we  students  used  to 
read  of  his  terrific  line  plunges  on  the  eastern  fields 
and  of  his  titanic  defense  when  his  team  was  hard 
pushed,  and  wonder  if  any  of  us  would  ever  become 
great  enough  to  meet  him  and  shake  him  by  the  hand. 
What  did  we  care  for  the  achievements  of  Achilles 
and  Hector  and  Hercules  and  other  eminent  hasbeens., 
which  we  had  to  soak  up  at  the  rate  of  forty  lines  of 
Greek  a  day  ?  They  had  old  Homer  to  write  them  up 
—  the  best  man  ever  in  the  business.  But  they  were 
too  tame  for  us.  I  've  caught  myself  speculating  more 
than  once  on  what  Achilles  would  have  done  if  Jarvis 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       295 

had  tried  to  make  a  gain  through  him.  Achilles  was 
probably  a  pretty  good  spear  artist,  and  all  that, 
but  if  Jarvis  had  put  his  leather-helmeted  head  down 
and  hit  the  line  low  —  about  two  points  south  of  the 
solar  plexus  —  they  would  have  carted  Ac.  away  in 
a  cab  right  there,  invulnerability  and  all. 

That 's  about  what  we  thought  of  Jarvis.  We  had 
his  pictures  pasted  all  over  our  training  quarters 
along  with  those  of  the  other  super-dreadnoughts 
from  the  colleges  that  break  into  literature,  and  I 
imagine  that  if  he  had  suddenly  appeared  back  in 
Jonesville  we  should  have  put  our  heads  right  down 
and  kow-towed  until  he  gave  us  permission  to  get  up. 
And  here  we  were,  sitting  in  the  same  cafe  with  him. 
I  '11  tell  you,  I  had  never  felt  the  glory  of  living  in 
the  metropolis  and  prowling  around  the  ankles  of  the 
big  chiefs  more  vividly  than  right  there  in  that  room 
the  night  we  first  saw  him. 

We  sat  and  watched  Jarvis  while  our  meat  course 
got  cold.  There  was  no  mistaking  him  —  some  peo 
ple  have  their  looks  copyrighted  and  Jarvis  was  one 
of  them.  We  would  have  known  it  was  he  if  we 
had  seen  him  in  a  Roman  mob.  After  a  while  Bangs, 
who  always  did  have  a  triple  reenforced  Harveyized 
steel  cheek,  straightened  up.  "  I  'm  going  over  to 
speak  to  him,"  he  said. 

"  Sit  still,  you  fool,"  says  I ;  "  don't  annoy  him." 

"  Watch  me,"  says  Bangs ;  "  I  'm  going  over  to 
introduce  myself.  He  can't  any  more  than  freeze  me. 
And  after  I  Ve  spoken  to  him  they  can  take  my  little 


296  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

old  job  away  from  me  and  ship  me  back  to  the  hay- 
fields  whenever  they  please.  I  '11  be  satisfied." 

"  You  ought  to  bottle  that  nerve  of  yours  and  sell 
it  to  the  lightning-rod  pedlers,"  says  I,  getting  all 
sweaty.  "  Just  because  you  introduced  yourself  to 
a  governor  once  you  think  you  can  go  as  far  as  you 
like.  You  stay  right  here  —  "  But  Bangs  had  gone 
over  to  Jarvis. 

I  sat  there  and  blushed  for  him,  and  suffered  the 
tortures  of  a  man  who  is  watching  his  friend  making 
a  furry-eared  nuisance  of  himself.  There  was  the 
greatest  football  player  in  the  world  being  pestered 
by  a  frying-sized  sprig  of  a  ninth  assistant  shipping 
clerk.  It  was  preposterous.  I  waited  to  see  Bangs 
wilt  and  come  slinking  back.  Then  I  was  going  to 
put  on  my  hat  and  walk  out  as  if  I  didn't  belong 
with  him  at  all.  But  instead  of  that  Bangs  shook 
hands  with  Jarvis,  talked  a  minute  and  then  sat  down 
with  him.  When  Bangs  is  routed  out  by  the  Angel 
Gabriel  he  '11  sit  down  on  the  edge  of  his  grave  and 
delay  the  whole  procession,  trying  to  find  a  mutual 
acquaintance  or  two.  That 's  the  kind  of  a  leather- 
skin  he  is. 

Presently  Bangs  turned  around  and  beckoned  to 
me  to  come  over.  More  colossal  impudence.  I  was  n't 
going  to  do  it,  but  Jarvis  turned,  too,  and  smiled  at 
me.  Like  a  hypnotized  man  I  went  over  to  their 
table.  "  I  want  you  to  meet  Mr.  Jarvis,"  said  Bangs, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  giving  away  his  aero 
plane  to  a  personal  friend. 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       297 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Jarvis  kindly. 

"  M-m-m-mrugh,"  says  I  easily  and  naturally. 
Then  I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair. 

Well,  sir,  Jarvis  —  it  was  the  real  Jarvis  all  right 
—  was  as  pleasant  a  fellow  as  you  would  ever  care 
to  meet.  There  he  was  talking  away  to  us  fishworms 
just  as  cordially  as  if  he  enjoyed  it.  He  did  n't 
seem  to  be  a  bit  better  than  we  were.  I  Ve  often 
noticed  that  when  you  meet  the  very  greatest  people 
they  are  that  way.  It 's  only  the  fellows  who  are  n't 
sure  they  're  great  and  who  are  pretty  sure  you  are  n't 
sure  either,  who  have  to  put  up  a  haughty  front. 
Jarvis  offered  us  cigarettes  and  put  us  so  much  at 
our  ease  that  we  stayed  there  an  hour.  It  was  a 
dazzling  experience.  He  told  us  a  lot  about  the  city, 
and  asked  us  about  ourselves  and  laughed  at  our 
experiences.  And  he  told  us  that  he  often  dined 
there  and  hoped  to  see  us  again.  When  we  got  safely 
outside,  after  having  bade  him  good-by  without  any 
sort  of  a  break,  I  mopped  my  forehead.  Then  I  took 
off  my  hat.  "  Bangs,"  said  I,  "  you  're  the  world's 
champion.  Some  day  you  '11  get  killed  for  impudence 
in  the  first  degree,  but  just  now  I  've  got  ten  cents 
and  I  'm  going  to  buy  you  a  big  cigar  and  walk  home 
to  pay  for  it." 

Incredible  as  it  may  sound,  that  was  the  beginning 
of  a  real  friendship  between  the  three  of  us.  Jarvis 
seemed  to  take  a  positive  pleasure  in  being  demo 
cratic.  And  he  was  wonderfully  thoughtful,  too.  He 
realized  instinctively  that  we  had  about  nine  cents 


298  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

apiece  in  our  clothes  as  a  rule,  and  he  didn't  offer 
to  be  gorgeous  and  buy  things  we  could  n't  buy  back. 
We  got  to  dropping  in  at  the  cafe  once  a  week  or 
so  and  eating  at  the  same  table  with  him.  Why  on 
earth  he  fancied  eating  around  with  grubs  like  us, 
when  he  could  have  been  tucking  away  classy  fare 
up  on  Fifth  Avenue,  we  could  n't  imagine.  Some 
people  are  naturally  Bohemian,  however.  It  seemed 
to  delight  Jarvis  to  hear  us  tell  about  our  team,  and 
our  college,  and  our  prospects,  and  how  lucky  we 
had  been  up  to  date,  not  getting  stepped  on  by  any 
financial  magnate  or  other  tall  city  monument.  He 
wasn't  a  talkative  man  himself.  It  was  especially 
hard  to  pry  any  football  talk  out  of  him,  probably 
because  he  was  so  modest.  When  we  insisted  he 
would  finally  open  up,  and  tell  us  the  inside  facts 
about  some  great  college  game  that  we  knew  by 
heart  from  the  newspaper  accounts.  And  he  would 
mention  all  the  famous  players  by  their  first  names 
—  you  can't  imagine  how  much  more  alarming  it 
sounded  than  calling  a  president  "  Teddy  "  —  and 
we  would  just  sit  there  and  drink  it  in,  and  watch 
history  from  behind  the  scenes  until  suddenly  he 
would  stop,  look  absent  and  shut  up  like  a  clam. 
No  use  trying  to  turn  him  on  again.  Presently  he 
would  bid  us  good  night  and  go  away.  The  first 
time  we  thought  we  had  offended  him  and  we  were 
miserable  for  a  week.  But  when  we  ran  across  him 
again  he  seemed  as  pleased  as  ever  to  see  us.  It 
was  just  moods,  after  all,  we  finally  decided,  and 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       299 

thought  no  more  about  it.  Great  men  have  a  right 
to  have  moods  if  they  want  to.  We  admired  his 
moods  as  much  as  the  rest  of  him,  and  were  only 
glad  they  were  n't  violent. 

It  was  a  couple  of  months  before  we  got  up  courage 
enough  to  ask  him  to  drop  in  at  our  room.  Even 
Allie  got  timid.  He  explained  that  he  did  n't  want 
to  break  the  spell.  But  finally  I  braced  up  myself 
and  invited  him  to  drop  around  with  us,  and  he  con 
sented  as  kindly  as  you  please.  Came  right  up  to  our 
little  three  by  twice  and  wouldn't  even  sit  in  the 
one  chair.  Sat  on  the  bed  and  looked  over  our  col 
lege  pictures,  and  chatted  until  Allie  asked  him  if  he 
was  going  back  for  the  big  game  that  fall.  Then  he 
said  sort  of  abruptly  that  he  could  n't  get  away,  and 
a  few  minutes  afterward  he  went  home.  We  thought 
we  'd  offended  him  again,  but  a  week  afterward  he 
turned  up  and  called  on  us  —  we  'd  asked  him  to 
drop  in  any  time.  We  decided  that  he  didn't  like 
to  have  too  much  familiarity  about  his  football  career 
and  we  respected  him  for  it.  It 's  all  right  for  a 
man  like  that  to  be  affable  and  democratic,  but  he 
must  n't  let  you  crawl  all  over  him.  He  's  got  his 
dignity  to  maintain. 

As  the  winter  came  on  Jarvis  dropped  up  to  see 
us  quite  frequently.  He  never  asked  us  to  come  and 
see  him  and  we  were  really  a  little  grateful  —  for  I 
don't  believe  I  should  have  had  the  nerve  to  go 
bouncing  into  the  apartments  of  a  national  hero  and 
hobnob  with  the  mile-a-minute  class.  Anyway  we 


300  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

did  n't  expect  it  or  dream  of  it.  And  we  did  n't  ask 
him  any  more  questions  about  himself.  We  did  n't 
care  to  try  to  elbow  into  his  circle.  If  he  chose  to 
come  slumming  and  sit  around  with  us,  we  were 
more  than  content.  We  had  seen  enough  of  him 
already  to  keep  us  busy  paralyzing  Siwash  fellows 
for  a  week  when  we  went  back  to  Commencement. 
"  Jarvis  ?  Oh,  yes.  Fact  is,  he 's  a  friend  of  ours. 
Comes  up  to  our  rooms  right  along.  We  happened 
to  meet  him  in  a  cafe.  And  say,  he  tells  us  that 
when  he  made  that  fifty-yard  run  —  and  so  on." 
We  used  to  practise  saying  things  like  this  naturally 
and  easily.  We  could  just  see  the  undergrads  at 
the  frat  house  sitting  around  in  circles  and  lapping 
it  up. 

All  this  time  we  were  plugging  away  down  at  the 
plant,  early  and  late,  with  every  ounce  of  steam  we 
had.  There 's  one  good  thing  about  business  in  this 
Bedlam  —  when  you  break  in  you  keep  right  on 
going.  By  the  time  Commencement  rolled  around 
we  were  getting  checks  with  two  figures  on  them,  and 
had  a  better  job  treed  and  ready  to  drop.  Ask  for 
a  vacation  ?  Why,  we  would  n't  have  asked  for  four 
days  off  to  go  home  and  help  bury  our  worst  enemy. 
That 's  what  business  does  to  the  dear  old  college 
days  when  it  gets  a  good  bite  at  them.  There  we 
were,  one  year  out  of  Siwash,  breaking  forty-five 
reunion  dates,  and  never  even  sitting  around  with  our 
heads  in  our  hands  over  it  This  business  bug  is  a 
bad,  bad  biter  all  right.  Just  let  it  get  its  tooth  into 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       301 

you,  and  what  do  you  care  if  some  other  fellow  is 
smoking  your  two-quart  pipe  back  in  the  old  chapter 
house  ?  And  for  that  matter,  what  do  you  care  about 
anything  else  until  you  get  up  far  enough  to  take 
breath  and  look  around  ?  Sometimes,  after  a  couple 
of  weeks  of  extra  hard  work,  I  've  taken  my  mind 
off  invoices  long  enough  to  wag  it  around  a  bit  and 
I  've  felt  like  a  swimmer  coming  up  after  a  long  dive. 

We  landed  those  promotions  in  July  and  went 
right  after  another  pair.  I  got  mine  in  August  — 
Allie  in  September.  And  along  in  December  they 
called  us  both  up  in  the  office,  where  the  big  crash 
was.  He  said  nice  things  to  us  about  getting  a 
chance  to  fire  our  own  chauffeurs  if  we  kept  on 
tending  to  business,  and  first  thing  we  knew  we  had 
offices  of  our  own  in  the  back  of  the  building,  with 
our  names  painted  on  the  doors,  and  call-bells  that 
brought  stenographers  and  the  same  old  brand  of 
office  boys  that  used  to  blow  us  out  of  the  other 
offices  along  with  their  cigarette  smoke.  And  we 
realized  then  that  if  we  worked  like  thunder  for 
thirty  years  more  and  saved  our  money  and  made 
it  earn  one  hundred  per  cent,  perhaps  some  of  the 
real  business  kings  would  notice  us  on  the  street 
some  day.  That 's  about  the  way  the  college  swelling 
goes  down. 

All  this  time  we  had  n't  seen  much  of  Jarvis. 
He  'd  stopped  coming  to  the  cafe  and  we  'd  really 
been  so  busy  that  we  almost  forgot  about  him.  It 's 
simply  wonderful  the  things  business  will  drive  out 


302  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

of  your  mind.  It  was  n't  until  late  in  the  winter 
that  we  realized  that  we  'd  probably  lost  track  of 
Jarvis  for  good  —  that  is,  until  we  climbed  up  into 
his  set  and  discovered  him  at  some  dinner  that  was 
a  page  out  of  the  social  register.  We  mixed  around 
a  lot  more  now.  We  went  to  the  million-candle-power 
restaurants  every  now  and  then,  and  ate  a  good  deal 
more  than  sixty-five  cents'  worth  apiece  without  batting 
an  eye;  and  we  went  to  see  a  play  occasionally  and 
did  n't  climb  up  into  the  rarefied  atmosphere  to  find 
our  seats,  either.  And  whenever  we  broke  in  with  the 
limousine  crowd  we  kept  a  bright  lookout  for  Jarvis. 
We  wanted  to  see  him  and  show  him  that  we  were 
coming  along.  We  wanted  him  to  be  proud  of  us. 
I  'd  have  given  all  my  small  bank  balance  to  hear 
him  say :  "  Fine  work,  old  man ;  keep  it  up."  I  '11 
tell  you  when  a  big  chap  like  that  takes  an  interest 
in  you,  it 's  just  as  bracing  as  a  hypodermic  of 
ginger.  Baccalaureates  and  inspirational  editorials 
can't  touch  it. 

I  was  holding  down  the  proud  position  of  shipping 
clerk  and  Allie  was  my  assistant  the  next  spring,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  we  had  to  empty  that  warehouse  every 
twenty-four  hours  and  find  the  men  to  load  the  stuff 
with  search-warrants.  Help  was  scandalously  scarce. 
We  could  n't  have  worked  harder  if  we  had  been 
standing  off  grizzly  bears  with  brickbats.  I  'd  just 
fired  the  fourth  loafer  in  one  day  for  trying  to  roll 
barrels  by  mental  suggestion,  when  the  boss  came  into 
my  office. 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       303 

"  Can  you  use  an  extra  man  ?  "  he  asked  me. 

"  Use  him  ?  "  says  I,  swabbing  off  my  forehead  — 
I  'd  been  hustling  a  few  barrels  myself.  "  Use  him  ? 
Say,  I  '11  give  him  a  whole  car  to  load  all  by  himself, 
and  if  he  can  get  the  job  finished  by  yesterday  he  can 
have  another  to  load  for  to-day." 

"Now,  see  here,"  said  the  boss,  sitting  down; 
"  this  is  a  peculiar  case.  This  chap  's  been  at  me  for 
a  job  for  months.  There  's  nothing  in  the  office. 
He  's  a  fine  fellow  and  well  educated,  but  he  's  on 
his  uppers.  He  can't  seem  to  land  anywhere.  I  'm 
sorry  for  him.  He  looks  as  if  he  was  headed  for  the 
bread  line.  He 's  too  good  to  roll  barrels,  but  it 
won't  hurt  him.  If  you  '11  take  him  in  and  use  him 
I  '11  give  him  a  place  as  soon  as  I  get  it ;  let  me 
know  how  he  pans  out." 

"  Just  ask  him  to  run  all  the  way  here,"  I  said, 
and  put  my  nose  down  in  a  bill  of  lading.  After  a 
while  the  door  opened  and  some  one  said,  "  Is  this 
the  shipping  clerk  ?  "  It  was  the  ghost  of  a  voice  I 
used  to  know  and  I  turned  around  in  a  hurry.  It  was 
Jarvis. 

I  don't  suppose  it  is  strictly  business  to  cry  while 
you  are  shaking  hands  with  a  husky  you  're  just 
putting  into  harness  at  one-fifty  per.  I  did  n't  intend 
to  do  it,  but  somehow  when  your  whole  conception  of 
fame  and  glory  comes  clattering  down  about  your 
ears,  and  you  find  you  've  got  to  order  your  star 
and  idol  to  get  a  hustle  on  him  and  load  the  car  at 
door  four  damquick,  you  are  likely  to  do  something 


304  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

foolish.  I  just  stood  and  sniveled  and  let  my  mouth 
hang  open.  Neither  of  us  said  a  word,  but  presently 
I  put  my  arm  around  his  shoulders  and  led  him  out 
into  the  shipping  room.  "  There  's  the  foreman,"  I 
said,  in  a  voice  like  a  wet  sponge.  "  And  you  report 
here  at  six  o'clock  sharp."  Then  I  went  and  hunted 
up  Allie  and  for  once  we  let  business  go  hang  in 
business  hours.  We  could  n't  work.  We  kept  claw 
ing  for  the  solid  ground  and  trying  to  readjust  so 
ciety  and  the  universe  and  the  beacon  lights  of 
progress  all  afternoon. 

When  quitting  time  came  we  waited  for  Jarvis. 
We  did  n't  say  anything,  but  we  loaded  him  into  a 
cab  and  took  him  up  to  the  old  cafe.  Then  he  told 
us  his  story,  while  we  learned  a  lot  of  things  about 
glory  we  had  n't  even  vaguely  suspected  before.  He 
was  one  of  the  greatest  football  players  who  ever  car 
ried  a  ball,  Jarvis  was.  Of  that  there  was  no  doubt. 
He  admitted  it  himself  then.  I  might  say  he  con 
fessed  it.  He  'd  come  to  his  university  without  any 
real  preparation  —  you  know  even  in  the  best  regu 
lated  institutions  of  learning  they  sometimes  get  your 
marks  on  tackling  mixed  with  your  grades  on  en 
trance  algebra.  He  'd  spent  two  hours  a  day  on 
football  and  the  rest  of  his  time  being  a  college  hero. 
He  'd  had  to  work  at  it  like  a  dog,  he  said.  How  he 
got  by  the  exams,  he  never  knew.  It  seemed  to  him 
as  if  he  must  have  studied  in  his  sleep.  By  the  time 
he  graduated  he  'd  had  about  every  honor  that  has 
been  invented  for  campus  consumption.  He  belonged 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America        305 

to  the  exclusive  societies.  All  kinds  of  big  people  had 
shaken  hands  with  him  —  asked  for  the  privilege. 
He  had  a  scrapbook  of  newspaper  stories  about  his 
career  that  weighed  four  pounds.  He  knew  the 
differences  between  eight  kinds  of  wine  by  the  taste 
and  he  had  a  perfect  education  in  forkology,  waltz- 
ology,  necktiematics,  and  all  the  other  branches  of' 
social  science. 

He  would  never  forget,  he  said,  how  he  felt  when 
he  was  graduated  and  the  university  moved  off  be 
hind  him  and  left  him  alone.  It  was  up  to  him 
to  keep  on  being  a  famous  character,  he  felt.  His 
college  demanded  it.  He  had  to  make  good.  But 
there  he  was  with  a  magnificent  football  education 
and  no  more  football  to  play.  His  financial  training 
consisted  in  knowing  when  his  bank  account  was  over 
drawn.  His  folks  had  pretty  nearly  paralyzed  them 
selves  putting  him  through  and  he  was  n't  going  to 
draw  on  them  any  further.  He  went  to  New  York 
because  it  seemed  to  be  almost  as  big  as  the  uni 
versity,  and  he  started  all  alone  on  the  job  of  shoulder 
ing  his  way  past  the  captains  of  finance  up  to  the 
place  where  his  college  mates  might  feel  proud  of  him 
some  more. 

The  result  was  so  ridiculous  that  he  had  to  laugh 
at  it  himself.  He  lost  five  yards  every  time  he 
bucked  an  office  boy.  His  college  friends  kept  in 
viting  him  out  and  he  went  until  they  began  offering 
him  help.  Then  he  cut  the  whole  bunch.  He  did  n't 
care  to  have  them  watch  the  struggle.  He  'd  been  in 


306  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

New  York  two  years  when  he  met  us,  he  said,  and 
he  had  n't  earned  enough  money  to  pay  his  room- 
rent  in  that  time.  There  were  times  when  he  might 
have  got  a  decent  little  job  at  twelve  dollars  per,  or 
so,  but  he  would  have  had  to  meet  the  boys  who  had 
looked  up  to  him  as  a  world-beater  and  somehow  he 
just  could  n't  tackle  it.  When  we  had  come  over 
and  paid  homage  to  him  he  saw  we  had  taken  him 
for  a  successful  man  of  the  world,  as  well  as  a  mem 
ber  of  the  All- America  team,  and  he  had  n't  been 
able  to  resist  the  desire  to  let  two  human  beings  look 
up  to  him  again.  He  had  n't  invited  us  to  his  room, 
he  said,  because  part  of  the  time  he  did  n't  have  a 
room;  and  he  even  confessed  that  once  or  twice 
he  'd  walked  up  to  our  rooms  from  downtown  be 
cause  he  was  crazy  for  a  smoke  and  did  n't  have  the 
price. 

I  guess  there  never  was  a  more  peculiar  dinner 
party  in  New  York.  Part  of  the  time  I  sniveled 
and  part  of  the  time  Allie  sniveled,  and  once  or  twice 
we  were  all  three  all  balled  up  in  our  throats.  But 
after  a  while  we  braced  up  and  I  told  Jarvis  what 
the  Boss  had  told  me,  and  we  drank  a  toast  to  the 
glad  new  days,  and  another  to  success,  and  another 
to  Jarvis,  the  coming  business  pillar,  and  some  more 
to  our  private  yachts  and  country  homes,  and  to  Com 
mencement  reunions,  and  this  and  that.  Then  we 
chartered  a  sea-going  cab  and  took  Jarvis  home  with 
us.  We  made  him  sleep  in  the  bed  while  we  slept 
on  the  floor,  and  the  next  morning  we  loaned  him  a 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       307 

pair  of  overalls  that  we  had  honorably  retired  and 
we  all  went  down  to  work  together. 

The  next  three  months  were  perfectly  ridiculous. 
We  simply  could  n't  order  Jarvis  around.  Suppose 
you  had  to  ask  the  Statue  of  Liberty  to  get  a  move 
on  and  scrub  the  floors  ?  We  could  n't  get  our  in 
grained  awe  of  that  freight  hustler  out  of  our  systems. 
Of  course  when  any  one  was  around  we  had  to  keep 
up  appearances,  but  when  I  was  alone  and  I  had 
something  for  Jarvis  to  do  I  'd  call  him  in  and  get 
at  it  about  this  way :  "  Er  —  say,  Jarvis,  could  you 
help  me  out  on  a  little  matter,  if  you  have  the  time  \ 
You  know  there  's  a  shipment  for  Pittsburgh  that  '3 
got  to  go  out  by  noon.  I  think  the  car  is  at  door  6. 
Those  barrels  ought  to  be  put  into  the  car  right  away, 
and  if  you  'd  see  that  they  get  in  there  I  'd  be  very 
much  obliged  to  you.  I  'd  attend  to  it  myself,  but 
they  've  given  me  a  lot  of  stuff  to  go  over  here." 

Then  Jarvis  would  grin  cheerfully  and  hustle  those 
barrels  in  before  I  could  get  over  blushing.  If  you 
don't  believe  football  has  its  advantages  in  after  life 
you  ought  to  watch  a  prize  tackle  waltzing  a  three- 
hundred-pound  barrel  through  a  car  door. 

By  day  we  ordered  Jarvis  about  in  this  fashion, 
and  made  him  earn  his  one-fifty  with  the  rest  of  the 
red-shirted  gang.  But  at  six  o'clock  we  dropped  all 
that  like  a  hot  poker.  Nights  we  were  his  adoring 
young  friends  again.  We  sat  together  in  restaurants 
and  said  "  sir  "  to  him  to  his  infinite  disgust,  and 
made  him  tell  over  and  over  again  the  stories  of 


308  At  Good  Old  Siwash 

the  big  games  and  the  grand  doings  of  the  old  days. 
When  his  promotion  came,  three  months  later,  and 
he  went  into  a  small  job  in  the  office,  with  a  traveling 
job  looming  up  in  the  offing,  we  held  a  celebration 
that  set  us  back  about  half  the  price  of  a  railroad 
ticket  home.  It  meant  more  to  us  than  it  did  to  him. 
To  him  it  was  three  dollars  more  a  week,  congenial 
work  and  a  chance.  But  to  us  it  was  the  release  of 
a  great  man  from  grinding  captivity  —  a  racehorse 
rescued  from  the  shafts  of  a  garbage  cart ;  a  Richard 
the  Lion-hearted  hauled  from  the  gloomy  dungeon, 
where  he  had  had  to  peel  his  own  potatoes,  and  set 
on  the  road  to  kingly  pomp  and  circumstance  again. 
Excuse  me  for  this  frightful  mess  of  language.  I 
can't  help  getting  a  little  squashy  with  my  adjectives 
when  I  think  of  that  glorious  banquet  night. 

I  'm  glad  to  say  that  Jarvis  kept  coming  along  after 
that.  He  developed  into  a  first-class  salesman,  and  in 
a  couple  of  years  he  came  in  from  the  road  and  took 
a  desk  in  the  house  with  his  name  on  the  side  in 
gilt  letters.  When  this  happened  we  made  him  look 
up  every  one  of  his  old  college  friends  again.  He 
hesitated  a  little,  but  we  got  behind  him  and  pushed. 
We  pushed  him  into  his  college  club  and  back  to  Com 
mencement,  and  we  really  pushed  him  out  of  our  life 
—  for  every  one  was  glad  to  see  him,  of  course,  and 
to  his  amazement  he  found  that  he  was  still  a  grand 
old  college  institution  among  the  alumni.  So  he 
trained  with  his  own  crowd  after  that,  but  even  now 
we  go  over  to  his  club  and  dine  with  him  at  least  once 


Sic  Transit  Gloria  All-America       309 

a  year  —  always  on  some  anniversary  or  other.  And 
for  the  last  two  years  he  has  been  sending  his  machine 
around  for  us. 

Oh,  no,  you  don't!  I-'m  paying  for  this  lunch, 
young  fellow.  Don't  fight  any  one  about  paying  for 
your  lunch  just  because  you  still  have  the  price.  It 's 
a  privilege  we  older  chaps  insist  on  with  you  new 
comers  anyway.  And  remember,  there  is  always  a 
bunch  of  us  before  the  fire  at  the  club  Saturday 
evenings,  and  we  don't  talk  business.  While  you  're 
waiting  for  that  job,  don't  you  dare  miss  a  meeting. 
And  say  —  one  thing  more.  Don't  be  afraid  of  those 
blamed  office  boys.  They  're  all  a  bluff.  I  'm  getting 
so  I  can  fire  them  without  even  getting  pale. 


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